


Withheld

by Miasunrise



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: (Link's the sword), Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Blind Link (Legend of Zelda), M/M, Porn With Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24995062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miasunrise/pseuds/Miasunrise
Summary: “Asword.” The demon's low tone hiked up an octave.Link tensed. Fingers left his skin, quick and exact like they’d been stung.“But where is your master,” Ghirahim said more than asked, as if the person in question should be just behind the door, just behind Link, like they had to be.
Relationships: Ghirahim/Link (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 152





	1. Skyview

**Author's Note:**

> Hi welcome to my sin fic that no one asked for.
> 
>  **Warning:** It's all consensual except for the start of this chapter (which is accidental): Ghirahim has every reason to think Link is propositioning him and when he finds out that's not the case he stops. 
> 
> I don't want to tag all the specific ways they have sex, but there's nothing like... typically triggering, and I aged Link up. If there's something you're trying to avoid just ask in the comments or on tumblr. I'm happy to tell you, I just don't like spoiling it for everyone and I think it looks messy in the tags;;
> 
> This is really self-indulgent and Ghirahim's probably a bit too romantic (I took him away from Demise tho so I think it makes sense) but I need a break from how he is in my longer fic. 
> 
> Edited by [Alpaca](https://actually-an-alpaca.tumblr.com/) ❤
> 
> Pretty sure I stole 'little bird' from [bbn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13456671/chapters/30846954), and I know I stole Blind!Link from it;;
> 
> 🌼Spoiler they're gonna fuck every chapter🌼 
> 
> Okay that's all have fun!!

Tiny motes of dust floated softly in the air of Skyview Temple, unstirred and nearly motionless in the faint blue lights of fungal flora. The temple was made of grey stone and stern architecture. All of this, along with the curling roots of trees from the surface above, was bathed in that soft blue glow. But to the single figure in the room, clad in green and a long hat, it was nothing but darkness.

Link couldn't see any of the temple’s motionless beauty. He stood amidst all of the high-ceilinged walls and stiff pillars of stone, all of the mushrooms and motes of delicate dust, and he tilted his head silently, waiting.

He listened for the reverberation from a chime he had let ring out across the temple only moments ago. It had taken a bit of practice, but now he could learn the layout of a whole room with only one or two rings. The noise would sound back at him, impressions would light up inside his head, and a gift for spatial awareness handled the rest. 

Link had been blind since he was thirteen, nearly ten years now; but he’d only been a sword for about a week. The strange smooth-hardness of his body was difficult to get used to, but his new found “sight” made it worth it. Link had never let his blindness stop him from trying to be a knight, from leaping off Skyloft’s ledge into the sky—from anything. But ultimately being sightless left him at disadvantage, especially in a fight, no matter how much he wanted to argue that it didn’t. 

They let him remain at the Academy out of pity. He knew that, had always known that, but Link couldn’t let it go. He _wanted_ to fight. He’d always gotten a rush from combat, staged or—as things were now—real. It made sense, he guessed, considering what the Goddess had planned for him all this time. Still now Skyloft _needed_ him, now they couldn’t tell him he wasn’t capable. 

As a sword he could see farther and better than he’d ever been able to. No colours or lights. No detail, at least not yet. But shapes. He could map out a whole room in seconds. He’d spent hours when he’d first flown down to the surface just chiming his head off and running around. He probably looked crazy. Link hadn’t cared. He could _see_ , in one sense or another, and there was a whole world laid out in front of him, unexplored and fresh. A world he thought he’d never get to experience.

 _You’re not coming with me?_ He could remember asking her, holding her hand and frowning.

Zelda had paused before her reply. _No._

Link shook his head, bringing himself back the present. There was no use in worrying about it. Zelda had given him a task. He had to find the Gate of Time. She was out looking, too, but Link was determined to find it for his—

His friend.

He navigated through the temple quickly, cutting down skulltula with a crystalline sword that came as another addition to his new body. He couldn’t see the blade, but Zelda had described it to him. Opaque white, thin and wisped, a smaller sword that she said looked more like a saber. There was a green gem near the hilt, she told him, and silver twining around the blade like vines. It had struck him as strange at first, a sword having its own magical sword, but he was glad for it anyway. He wouldn’t be any use to Zelda if he couldn’t defend himself like this. Or her too, if she’d been here.

The puzzelkey to unlock the final door wasn’t too difficult for him. Link was a bit worried about all the noise he’d been making, jumping, climbing, and fighting in here, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around. Only the Goron he’d met, Gorko, and he’d been nice enough.

He pushed the heavy doors open with a low grunt. He was stronger than he used to be, but found the metallic weight of his own body heavier to carry. The doors budged open, inch by inch, until he slipped through the crack and inside.

The doors slammed shut behind him, and he wondered how he would get them open again, but finding the gate was his prime objective. Zelda needed him and Link wouldn’t let her down. 

He walked quietly into the room, feet careful on an unknown floor, letting a bright chime ring out as he moved.

The reverberations hit him more like a feeling than noise. He was in a fairly small room, the ceilings were high and domed-shaped, no corners but instead rounded walls, and there was a single door on the other side. The old woman had said the gate of time would be waiting at the very end of a temple—it was just a matter of which temple. He probably wouldn’t be lucky enough to have it be the first, but he’d never lacked for optimism.

Grinning, Link took a confident step forward, heading for the door across the chamber.

A force like a heatwave blew out across the air in front of him. It knocked Link back on his boots, a hand coming up to block the energy as if he could see and it were light instead. 

Magic. He knew instantly it was magic. Not like his own—not from Hylia, not centered or balanced or good, and not radiant or calm. It was grim. Rolling. It unfurled like a storm cloud clawing its way to him. Link grit his teeth, trying to hold his ground through it. This magic didn’t feel… right. Exactly. But the way it felt bad wasn’t exactly bad, either. 

“Oh… Now what is this?”

Link tensed, standing stock-still in the middle of the room. 

“I see a little green bird has flown down from the sky.”

The voice that called out was weighted with tempered fury, but somehow sleek and curious. It made him turn his head, trying to find its source with his ears.

Pouring magic wafted over him again. 

It was a request of some kind, but magic was still new to him. Link didn’t know how to respond. Whatever was with him in this room, though—it wasn’t human.

“How positively _uncivil_ ,” the voice said, hissing at his left and then coming from behind, a fair distance away, “I know you can feel me, boy.” 

Link stayed still, listening, tense. Strangely there were no footsteps following the voice. Instead he heard a sound he couldn’t place. It was like air rushing in to fill a void, or smoke unfurling into moonlight—if such an action could make any noise.

“Allowing me entrance so freely…” the voice crawled from behind him now, slipping over his shoulders and straight into his ears, “Sordid behaviour for a first meeting, don’t you think?”

The sound, that voided wisp of air, happened again—but this time closer. What was it? Who was here with him? He should call out his sword and get ready to fight; the surface had no shortage of beasts and maybe some of them lie in wait within Hylia’s temples. 

Another warm roll of magic fell over him again, like a wave of heat that hit his bones before his skin. His body, now imbued with metal, reacted in a way he didn't have words for. The convulsion of energy washed over him and then Link didn’t want to fight. Not at all.

“You are excessively affected…” That voice like dark velvet said, still from behind him. It was nearly tangible, filling his metal body as if vibrating. 

He tried to think through the fog sifting through his head. It was too heavy. The magic was wafting… Gentle waves of it, like pulses of perfect heat, brushing against his face, his throat, his back, over and over. It was enough to force him to close his useless eyes. From his throat to his ears he felt heat swarm him. Link fought back a groan—the kind he’d only ever made alone in his bedroom in Skyloft. 

“You are _enjoying_ yourself, aren’t you, little green bird…” The man said, his tone flourishing and playful, but there were undercurrents of something strange and unnerving. “Well who could blame you?” 

Hands landed on his shoulders suddenly, tight and clamp-like. Warm. Link gasped as he was held. 

“My form may be stunning, yet my raw unobstructed power is far more beautiful. I should thank you for appreciating it so thoroughly…”

Warm breath ghosted along the back of his neck and ear. Link felt as hot as metal inside a fire. His body seemed to be melting, turning pliable in a way that shouldn’t be possible. Only he was a sword now—everything had changed right along with his body—and maybe he really could melt, turn into a pile of liquid steel right here on the stone floor.

“You are much too hot, little bird,” the velvet voice said, mocking him with a laugh. “Your body is positively burning. Why don’t you push me away?”

“I—” Link croaked, his voice struggling to work through the heady magic and the hands on his shoulders, the warm body inches behind him. “I... can’t.”

There was a gravid pause. And then that voice said, “You...” but trailed off, all mirth gone from it.

The heatwave of dark magic dissipated with a snap of fingers. The man was gone from behind him, too, though Link didn’t feel any less warm.

He took a grateful breath of air, his shoulders shaking, the metallic resonance of his skin seeming to stiffen back into place. What was that? He ran a hand through his hair. The surface had offered a lot of new things, but nothing half as sensitive as that rush of dark magic.

“You will have to excuse me,” the man said. Link jumped as that voice called out from in front of him now. Judging by the trajectory he was taller than Link, but he couldn't guess at how much. “It is not very often a lowly _human_ is improved upon as you have been. As much as I enjoy indulging myself, I would not have imposed on you if I had known.” 

That voice was only inches from him. Link tried to take a step back. He needed to take a step back. That voice, that untethered power… This was dangerous, one way or another.

He didn’t move. 

“How do your kind do things again?” There was a pause wherein he hummed, a sardonic noise that seemed to match the now-tempered waves of magic pouring from him. “My name is Ghirahim. I am the demon lord that presides over this land you call the surface—though I admit I have not been here in some hundred years.” 

He heard the sound of something moving—maybe rustling clothes and some sort of magic. 

“Who are you, little bird,” Ghirahim said, “and why are you prattling about on the surface, chiming that pretty blond head wherever you please?”

Link didn’t reply. Hadn’t the old woman said a _horde_ of demons rose up and attacked the surface? He’d felt this demon’s power—it had nearly brought him to his knees, turned all of his newly formed steel into liquid. What could he do if Ghirahim decided to attack? He should have run from the start. He should run now. Link couldn’t die here—he wouldn’t let Zelda down. He _couldn’t_.

“It is _polite_ to offer your own name in return, boy,” Ghirahim said. As if a switch had been flipped somewhere inside him, his tone was suddenly impatient. Link heard the sound of rustling clothes—the demon was moving, but not walking. What was he doing? “Or do they not have manners in the clouds?”

“It’s Link,” he said and then he swallowed. Thick, heavy. He wasn’t sure why he’d offered his name, wasn’t sure sure why he was standing there talking instead of calling out his saber.

“Link,” he repeated, saying the name like he wanted to test it before using it. “And what are you doing in this temple, Link? I was under the impression you humans avoided the surface as a rule. Not that I am complaining.” Link heard something weird. Something… wet. And wiggling. “ _You_ ,” Ghirahim said, “are a sight to behold.”

Heat flushed to the crown of his head, making him briefly dizzy. What was that? Just from his tone of voice? His words? His power? Maybe all of it. Link narrowed his eyes, trying to force the heat away from his head.

“You are new at this,” Ghirahim said. He must be close, because Link could feel the warmth of his body. “Take a _breath_ , Skychild. The familiarity will ground you, inane an act as it is.”

He did. Link took a shaking breath of air. 

“As a spirit,” the demon continued, “you must meet magic with your own. It is how we say _hello_ , for lack of a better term.” A gentle wave of magic ghosted across his front, not nearly as forcefully assertive but calm like a wave washing over a shoreline. “If you do not meet another’s power with your own—if you simply stand there dumb as you are and accept such an onslaught—you offer yourself for a far more sensuous purpose.”

“Oh-” Link breathed, his heart hammering, another habit from his mortality. But he couldn’t force it to stop. His heart pounded and each thud was metallic, dull and dim and hollow inside the cavern of his chest. He didn’t need to eat anymore, either. Goddess he wasn’t _human_ anymore… Who was he? Where was Zelda? Why wouldn’t she—

Tips of fingers, cool compared to his searing steel, were placed on his upper arm. “Your mind is rushing.” Ghirahim set his hand down fully, flattened and firm. “ _Focus_ ,” he commanded, a low growl just under his voice.

Link’s senses honed in on the press of his hand. All other feeling in his body vanished. It was only that firm compression. Only his hand. 

“You are able to emit an aura of your own, inexperience notwithstanding. Concentrate on your center. Whatever means of spirit you are, you will have a core for your magic. Let it course from there.”

Link understood what the demon meant even without knowing. No one had taught him how to be a sword. So far he’d figure everything out on his own. And Link didn’t mind—he usually preferred to learn by doing—but this was scary, sometimes. On the first day he couldn’t taste anything but metal and the iron of blood, his nostrils were full of smoke and fire as if he’d just been forged, he couldn't smell Zelda’s wildflower hair, he couldn’t stop thinking about slicing his steel through flesh, he wanted to _slaughter_ and _save_ and _protect_ and lose himself in—

Link took a shuddering breath as the hand on his upper arm slid down to his wrist. It felt like his heart went with it. It felt like it was dragged.

“ _Relax_ ,” Ghirahim snapped, his voice a hissing whisper, “Your mind is wandering yet again. I am beginning to suspect _thinking_ is not where your strengths lie.” 

Link scrunched his face up into a frown. 

Ghirahim chuckled, once and amused and lowly. “Such a merciless expression… Would you be placated if I told you your arm is pleasingly well-toned? It is difficult to tell under this homely tunic, but you are as hard as iron.”

The fingers at his wrist slipped slowly back up his arm. They felt every muscle, bending and flexing as they explored. Link shivered. He fought back another gasp. Why did those fingers feel like a release? He wanted more of them. He didn’t know how to ask for something like that. And he shouldn’t; not from a demon, not inside Hylia’s temple, he shouldn’t but his mouth dropped open and he wanted…

Link felt it when a wave of his own magic left him. Ghirahim had said it was supposed to come from some sort of center, but instead it came from where those fingers touched him.

“Good,” he said, letting him go. “Now you have met me well.”

Link nearly frowned at the loss of contact but he held it back. He didn’t know this demon—and he’d never wanted someone like that before—and he couldn’t want a _demon_ —and he had a job to do, didn’t he?

“Still,” Ghirahim said, his tone studious, “You are a bit too affected…” 

That void sound called out again, like a whispering wind through a night sky. What _was_ that? Link tried to sift through the air for it, sending his own newly-learned power out to search. But all he found was the dark hum of Ghirahim’s own magic. All he heard was his voice again, still standing in front of him, closer than he needed to be even if he wasn’t touching Link anymore.

“You remain far too warm, little bird.” Fingers pressed into Link’s forehead this time. Ghirahim moved hair from his eyes. His hands were gloved but he felt every inch anyway. “What could be the cause now?” The demon asked, sounding distracted. 

Link rocked on his feet. Being touched felt like the first drink of water after an afternoon of training at the Academy. It felt like slipping into bed, his muscles worn from practice, and losing himself to blissful sleep. He sighed and pressed his forehead into those fingers. He needed to be held. He needed…

“A _sword_.” The demon said it with surprise, his low tone hiking up an octave.

Link tensed.

Fingers left his skin, quick and exact like they’d been stung.

“But where is your master,” Ghirahim said more than asked, as if the person in question should be just behind the door, just behind Link, like they _had_ to be.

Link grit his teeth. Why did the question hurt so badly? Zelda had explained herself. He understood. He’d always loved her but he’d never _needed_ her.

The demon began to cackle, then. Raucous laughter that came out of nowhere and filled the echoing room. The change was so sudden it made Link think of that flipped switch again.

“They do not _wish_ to wield you!” He cried. His shrill tone fell to low fury as he continued, Link’s jaw tightening with indignation at each word, “A sword without a master is _pathetic_ , boy. Are you not ashamed to lark about on your own? How could they request this of you?” That voice was angry now, bright and snapping like a whip, “What kind of _wretched_ —”

“She’s busy,” he said, the defensive words falling out of him without intent. Link gripped his hands into fists.

Ghirahim scoffed. “What sort of master is too busy for their sword?” he retorted, nearly spitting the words down at him. “She is wretched for sending you down here on your own. The atrocities such a course will do to your pretty blond head given enough time….”

Link glared, hoping he was looking up at the right angle. He’d never liked it when anyone talked badly about Zelda, but now he hated it like a compulsion, like a prayer. 

With heat he said, “We’re _not_ like that.”

Ghirahim scoffed at him again. “You are a _sword_. You require a master as a mortal requires air.” Link heard the sound of boots tapping on stone, the demon shifting on his feet. Lightly. Delicately. But he’d felt that power, the engulfing waves of heated darkness, and he knew the demon couldn’t be only delicate. “If she truly cared for you, she would take pity and wield you. She would know she must.”

Link kept his frown held hard.

The demon sighed. “There is no purpose in arguing this. The desire to defend your master is innate.” 

His tone shifted again, from irritation to… to something Link didn’t recognize. A tone he’d never heard. Mocking but appreciative, dismissive but hungry. He’d never met someone who changed moods so fast. Ghirahim really did flip like a switch.

“Your expressions contort in the most severe ways…” With a desperate sigh—another sound Link had never heard before, a sound like giving in—a finger touched his throat. It waited a moment, but met with no resistance it drew a line upward. Link made a grunting noise from his chest. “Your eyebrows speak volumes for you,” Ghirahim said, forcing Link’s head to tilt upwards as that finger reached his chin. “And those lips… wide and plump as cherries…” He sounded like he was dreaming. Link could feel his dark magic rolling, reaching, requesting— “The Demon King neglected to tell me there were temptations such as you flitting about up here.”

Link swallowed. The finger on his chin was gloved, but he could feel its strength. It seemed to pull at something inside him, tugging a force from his heart to that hand, his body begging to give whatever it was being asked for.

“You never did enlighten me as to your purpose for landing here, little _sword_ ,” the demon said, tilting Link’s face up even more harshly. “Yet I believe I have sussed it out. Your puerile energy is evidence enough of your objective.”

His chin was released. Link had seconds to breathe before warm fingers found one of his ears. They paused for a beat—waited, still as the Faron Woods at night; Link tilted his head enough to be implicit. 

Ghirahim breathed out a sparse sound, pleased, and began playing with the length of his ear. He was close—he must be leaning in, leaning down, just to reach. Link, not one for speech or showing off in front of people, was rarely at the center of anyone’s attention. But he felt hunted. He felt as focused on as prey. He could have taken a step back—he could have done that from the very start. He didn’t.

Gloved fingers rubbed at the tip of his ear. Link shivered. 

“I have been forcefully assigned a contract of sorts,” Ghirahim explained while he petted at him, “demonic in nature and rudely indissoluble. I am to _raise_ the Demon King, Demise!” He nearly shouted the name and title, but then spoke lower, “What an unsavoury event.” 

The demon stroked a solid, firm line down Link’s ear. He shivered again. Why was he doing this? Why was Link _letting_ him? It felt so good—it felt amazing to be touched. That finger continued down to his jaw next, down his throat in a line like a raindrop, rolling over the bulge there. Link felt his mouth fall open into an airy gasp. 

“I suppose...” The demon trailed off. Link could feel each breath; the finger on his throat dragged over the bulge again, not light and but not painful, not at all. The demon's other hand found his right ear. No one had ever touched him like this. He hadn’t even touched himself like this—had never thought to. “...unfortunate as it is...” Ghirahim continued, his own words consumed with feeling—Link thought so, thought he sounded shambling and wild, but maybe that was his magic, it was getting hard to tell them apart, and he swallowed, and he wondered why one single touch felt like the whole world he’d always dreamed about exploring— “...that makes us _enemies_.”

Link could barely hear him. Hands were all he felt. Not just any hands, but ones that would never let him go. He knew it because he felt Ghirahim’s magic along with his touch, and there was no fear to be had there, whatever his words.

“I have taught you how to reject me,” the demon whispered directly into the same ear he fingered at. Link shook from his head to his hips. “Am I to take this as consent to continue?”

He should say no. He had to say no. Goddess please let him say no. Link had to find the gate, he had to do it for Zelda, he had never done anything like this, Ghirahim was a _monster_ , wasn’t he?—this monster’s hands were strong and steadfast and unwavering and they touched him without reserve, without questioning it, without _shame—_

Link nodded.

That strange wet slithering noise met his ears, and then the demon’s sonorous voice. “Delightful.” 

“I can’t see,” Link said, compelled to be honest if they were doing whatever they were doing—he didn’t let himself say it, think about it, admit it.

“Mortal sight is so _woefully_ limited.” The sharp grin was clear in his words. “You are able to see in greater ways, now.” The hand at his throat shifted, tense and urgent, one finger rubbing at him in a beckoning motion. “Come here.”

Obediently, Link took a step closer, not sure how much room he had to breach. The fingers at his throat stayed; they pressed in firmer as he brought himself into the demon’s frame. 

Ghirahim hummed. “Such prompt obedience surely deserves a reward,” he said. His tone was darkly mocking but pleased, and more than that it was honest, though Link wondered why the fact made him feel happy in return.

He frowned then, the reaction a bit late, at being called ‘obedient.’ He directed that frown up at where he hoped it met a face. 

Ghirahim laughed, curt and condescending, and said, “And such a defiant expression deserves an equally as stark _punishment_.”

A surge of that velvet-dark magic flooded him and Link let it in—he let it in and he kept glaring, his heart beating a metallic tune in his head. Everything focused on Ghirahim’s hand still on his throat. Shutting his eyes he let the voidlight of that dark magic in, let it burn through him like a dying star until he felt like he was falling. 

The demon groaned, a debased sound that turned Link’s ears hot. “Accepting a demon so openly is dangerous,” he said through a low growl, “You may have stumbled in over your head, little sword… It has been far too long since I have spoiled myself with the sort of compliant submission you offer.” A thumb dragged roughly across his clavicle. “My aptitude for restraint is sorely lacking.”

That should have made him afraid. 

Instead Link felt his heart trill, sending vibrations through his body. He reached a hand up slowly, having a general idea where the demon’s face was from the trajectory of his voice. 

The tips of his fingers crumpled as they hit skin too soon. Ghirahim was closer than he thought. The demon hissed at being jabbed, accidentally as it was; the sound was more annoyed than in pain. 

Link coiled his hand back. “Sorry,” he said, voice rough. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Clearly.”

“Are you okay?”

A snarl tore from the demon. “I am offended that you would ask.” A pause. Link waited, and Ghirahim said with bright agitation, “You are lucky to be so pretty. I have little patience for ineptitude.” 

Link smiled. Somehow, that irritated tone was sweet. 

Or maybe he was just losing his grip on reality. That seemed pretty likely, considering his life as of late.

Ghirahim grabbed his wrist. “Allow me to guide you to your _perch_ , pretty bird,” he said with a sneer. The grip around Link’s wrist was vice-like, clamped down hard enough he knew his fingers would go numb if he weren’t infused with metal. As a sword that harsh grip only felt grounding. 

He sucked back a breath of air when his palm fell flat against a smooth face.

“Discover for yourself the beauty of my features, then perhaps I will consider continuing where you so gracelessly halted our venture.”

Ghirahim’s skin was warm and malleable in the way Link’s own once was, though the demon’s had a stiffness to it he’d never felt. He glided the tips of fingers down the long, angular slope of his nose, feeling its edges and surprised, mildly, to find the face so similar to his own. Link had been expecting something more monstrous, but maybe the sight he had through his new magic was more accurate than his pre-existing ideas about demons. His fingers slipped back up the nose and spread to the inside corners of his eyes, feeling at hard bone. He heard the soft breath the demon made—a breath that told Link in an instant that this demon, Ghirahim, for all his posturing, would never hurt him. 

He went lax under his hands. Link felt the change, the release of distrustful tension, the shift in magic. The hard lines of his face disappeared. Reaching up still—the difference in their height must have been at least a full foot—Link pressed his fingers against warm cheeks, using both of his hands now. High cheekbones, long nose—he slipped his hands down to his jaw, holding Ghirahim’s face, wondering vaguely at his silence but the rolling roar of magic between them wasn’t silent at all. It told him everything.

A wide jaw, narrow chin; sloping nose, high cheekbones. Link catalogued his face the best he could. He’d only ever touched Zelda like this, and even that hadn’t been like _this_.

Ghirahim’s voice startled him when he spoke. It was ragged as if squeezed through his throat in a tight line. “Boy…” he said. Link’s hands froze on his jaw. He couldn’t breathe and even though he didn’t need to he still felt its lack, felt it as sure as he felt this longing. Magic convulsed between them and he couldn’t tell anymore where his own ended and the demon’s started. “What _are_ you?”

Link only blinked in muted silence, surprised and confused. “You…” He slipped a hand down and felt curling lips. A frown, a snarling one. “Nothing,” Link said. “You already know…” He bit at his bottom lip, trying to figure out what that question meant. Ghirahim already knew what he was.

The demon grabbed his wrists, pulling Link’s hands away from his face, but just barely. His grip pinched, almost as if claws were clamping him down.

“ _‘Nothing’_ could not do this to me,” he hissed. Long fingers curled over his wrists further and Link realized two things: the gloves were gone and they _were_ claws—the demon was clawed on each finger, sharp and deadly, poking against his skin.

When had he taken the gloves off?

“I don’t…”

A wave of sudden magic unfurled, warm and full; overpowering and possessive. Link accepted it openly. It asked to own him when no one else would. He felt a groan work its way up his throat, dropping out of his mouth like a secret being spilled. His ability to ignore his half-hard cock was slowly dwindling; shame followed the groan and the fact of his own arousal. He was inside one of Hylia’s temples. He was at the mercy of a demon. 

Said demon laughed at him. “Such a sweet sound… You are far worse than a meager temptation.” His voice seemed like a dream again, lilting and detached but boundless, filling Link to the crown of his head. “What burning paradise is this…?” the demon asked in a hush.

“Ghirahim.” Link felt hot everywhere. “Ghirah—”

The vice grip of claws on wrists let go. Link gasped high and aired when a hand landed flat on his back, just above his rear. Heat radiated from it. He’d swear he’d never been touched before—the relief was too much, too dizzying.

Held from behind, the demon’s other hand was placed on Link’s chest. It petted at him, languid and gradual, almost lazy but the stroking fingers were firm. Heat started from this point, too, and Link felt again like all his steel might melt onto the floor. Had he ever been this hot as a human? No, he was impossibly hot, he felt like the single pin point of an unyielding ray of sun.

The hand at his chest slid down. It dragged on his tunic and he realized claws were catching on thread. Link shivered through the metallic heat of his body. He was really doing this, he was really going to. He was aware his knowledge of sex was limited—he knew Skyloft was reserved. They’d been given books as teenagers, never talked to, so they’d talked amongst themselves; he was in his twenties and he shouldn’t be shy but he’d _always_ been shy about this, had only been alone in his bedroom with this, and now he was—he was…

Ghirahim’s clawed hand slipped down lower, and Link stopped thinking. 

He was kneaded through his pants, and even though he couldn’t see, the mirth in that low voice let him know the demon was smirking.

“You do not lack for fervor in any part, I see.” Ghirahim gripped him firmly and Link whined, fighting to keep his mouth shut. “Not only generously endowed...” he said, the grip relaxing and turning into rotating pets. Link’s mouth dropped open into a strained moan; it was a wild feeling, not knowing which way or how the hand would move next. The claws pricked across fabric, held away from his arousal, and Ghirahim kept talking. “...but so dutifully _attentive_.” With the last word he pushed up the length of his half-hard cock through his pants, a pleased huff following the action as Link fought back another moan.

His head was so hot, blood rushing him to dizziness, blood he didn’t need heating up the metal that made his strange new skin. Link swayed on his feet. It all felt different, everything was different; the way his body reacted, the hand grabbing him, and the magic still intertwining between them—its own conversation altogether—it was all so new.

“So pliable in my hands...” the demon practically purred at him. The hand at Link’s back held him up, and Ghirahim’s other one left his groin, the emptiness of its disappearance making him shiver. Fingers found his mouth. One traced his top lip, indenting as it dragged. “What shall I do with you?” the demon whispered. For a second Link wished he could see—as he often did—but then a flux of magic told him everything. The careful fingers that slipped down to his jaw, forcing his bottom lip open as they fell, told him even more. 

Link’s head was held, claws tapping at his cheek. His heart pounded so hard in his ears he wondered if Ghirahim could feel it. 

The demon’s thumb dragged across his bottom lip next, hand still holding his jaw. Link left his mouth open. The hand at his back flexed, claws scratching in anticipation that seemed too eager. 

“What do you want from me, Link?”

He shuddered at the sound of his name; any pretence he’d had of pretending _he_ wasn’t the one doing this—that it was some fever dream he was just passively watching—vanished with his name.

Still, he couldn’t say it. His own hands, lying uselessly at his sides, felt as weak as jelly. Again a thumb dragged across his bottom lip. Friction sent sparks of heat to his toes.

“If you require some form of _relief_ , little sword, you will have to tell me.”

Swimming in heated metal and flowing magic, Link forced his hands to move. He set them somewhere on Ghirahim’s lower abdomen, held between them. His fingers twitched. “You…” He trailed off, words dying barely before they started.

There was shifting movement, and then hot breath along his pointed ear. “Tell me.”

He shook against the taller frame in front of him. Was it supposed to be like this? Ghirahim had barely touched him and Link was already falling apart.

“I can’t…”

“How unfortunate. If not for your ineptitude, we could be having _such_ a good time,” he said, and Link felt a surge of magic, a shockwave of it striking him through his metallic core, harsh and then pleasantly soft. A hand followed it. Ghirahim dragged claws down his throat. 

Link closed his eyes, seeking comfort and stillness in the midst of being teased. He’d never heard anyone talk like that, and definitely not to him. Ghirahim’s voice and grip were like a command. 

Sucking in air through his nose, his cock fully hard now, Link gripped at the tight fabric under his hands. The demon wore skin-tight clothing. Somehow that wasn’t surprising. 

There was something he thought he could do. The chimes worked, afterall, and what did he have to lose?

 _Touch me._ Link sent his voice straight inside the demon’s head, gripping at the fabric over his abdomen. _I want you to…_

Ghirahim tensed; Link felt it with his hands. 

“What are you doing, boy?”

_Talking._

His voice was different like this. Metallic, ringing. 

“You should not… Not within my—”

 _Ghirahim_ , he said, words more confident when he didn’t need to say them out loud, though he knew his head was hot enough to turn his cheeks red, _I want you to touch me. Again._

The demon snarled but it wasn’t angry—it was desperate, the hand on his back told Link so, the magic too. 

“Where?” he demanded.

 _You know where._

Link felt a swooning wave of heat course through him. Maybe being made of metal made temperature ten times more potent. Would everything be like this, now? Would a hot summer day bring him to his knees like this?

“Do you suppose you can order me about? Trite little blade of light as you are?" That claw trailed up his throat this time, the same gentle urgency in it as his words. One finger stopped under Link’s chin, tilting his head up as he had before. “You would do well to learn some manners, boy,” Ghirahim said.

_Guess you better teach me._

Link was gifted a feral growl for that. He grinned, the expression breaking out over his face like thickly cracking ice. 

“I will do better than that, you insignificant gadfly. I will _devour_ you.” His voice was gravelled. The hand at Link’s back flexed, claws pushing into his tunic and chainmail. “Pathetic iridescence that you are,” Ghirahim said through a distracted mumble. Finally the hand at his throat traveled down his chest, down his sensitive stomach, and stopped at the hemline of his tunic.

Shaking, his own momentary confidence making him even warmer, Link took Ghirahim’s wrist. He slipped that clawed hand under his long shirt; he set it over his belt, which he undid without conscious thought because if he let himself think about this he might come to his senses—they were inside _Hylia’s temple—_ he was her chosen sword—a hero of light—this desire he felt had to be disgraceful—

He didn’t care. He wanted to be disgraced. 

Link undid his belt, unbuttoning his pants with shaking fingers; whether from excitement or shame or nervousness or all three he didn’t know. He set his hand over the back of a clawed one. He stroked a thumb across smooth skin. “This,” he managed with his mouth, the sound rough like rust. “Please,” he added, knowing already the demon was proud—that _begging_ would go over well. “Ghirahim, _please_ -”

He gasped when the hand slipped out of his own and down the front of his pants. It was fast and direct. Ghirahim slid his hand down over his cock, warmth devouring Link and that velvet darkness engulfing his mind; Link’s knees gave out, but the demon caught him with the hand at his back as he swayed.

“Poor little sword… You really are overly affected. Is it my raw power? Or are you truly so _weak?”_ His voice was unhinged, erratic, but his hand was calm and sure. “Those lips of yours want for a better purpose… What would they feel like, I wonder,” he said. Link’s cock grew harder, and the hand around it tightened. Before he knew it he was being pulled free from his pants. The cool air of the temple made the heat of his arousal seem like a shout – sudden, jarring – and Link groaned as Ghirahim swiped a thumb around the base of his head. 

“So pliant…. You may be chosen by your goddess as some tool for divine intervention, yet you are _helpless_ in my hands…” Ghirahim’s fingers glided too-gently up the length of his cock, barely touching him at all. “How entirely you’ve given yourself. How baselessly trusting. I could snuff you out in seconds.” Fingers danced back down hot skin; still slow, still barely touching, matching the quiet threat of his words. “I could quell the _revolting_ pull of light from your body with but a single finger,” he hissed in his ear as if truly disgusted, the head of his cock traced by gentle tips of delicate fingers. “How heated your skin is… ” Ghirahim said with obvious desire. A tongue lapped at Link’s ear, just beneath the lobe. “I had no notion of…”

Link couldn’t take it anymore. The demon _talked_ too much. He gripped onto the fabric of his shirt for purchase, and then he bucked his hips forward, forcing friction between the hand that barely held him and his cock. A shiver ran up his spine. He keened, head dropping forward and mind hazing over with lights he couldn’t actually see, impressions from mingling magic.

Ghirahim huffed at him. “How impatient.”

Link moved his hips again, his face turned down, mouth open to silent moans. 

“Very well,” he said, the boredom in his voice obviously fake—Link could feel his dark magic as it fluxed erratically. He could feel the hand on his back twitch. “I suppose I should not spend too long teasing and toying with you.” Strong fingers pressed against the length of his cock, unmoving, the heat of his body so close, the pressure mounting. He bucked his hips forward again; Ghirahim made an irritated noise. “Have some _patience_ , boy.”

Link let out a sarcastic sort of laugh. He trailed a hand flat against the demon’s stomach. He felt his torso, his chest, the opening of his clothes to his skin; diamond shaped. He moved his hips in a slow thrust this time and Link saw stars, some from radiating magic and the rest from his own excitement.

Ghirahim moved—finally—the fingers around his cock shifting until it was his whole hand. The demon pulled down the length of him. Link, surprised by the action, made a noise.

To his absolute horror he _chimed_. A bright, trilling one. He froze with embarrassment, with dread—did he ruin this?—did he—

The demon laughed. Of course he did. Link let go of his shirt, his hands twitching with shame. Somehow this was _worse_ than all the rest. Those chimes were meant for someone else. 

“Yet another sweet sound,” Ghirahim said, and then Link felt breath on his face. “Am I to be undone?” 

Struck still by his airy tone Link chimed again. Intentionally this time. A softer one this time. Ghirahim sighed like he’d been waiting for it and Link did it once more, ringing out shyly, fingers gripping the form-fitting fabric over his abdomen again.

The hand around his cock started moving, this time with greater pressure, though less controlled. It pulled up and down, going slow; he knew he was being watched, and Link let his mouth fall open to a ring of low moans. Ghirahim pushed a finger up his frenulum, rubbing at it forcefully, Link gasping out repeated short breaths while his world turned into feeling.

“What have you done to me?” The demon asked. Link tried to laugh wryly at him but the constant stroke of deft fingers over his cock only let him moan. Ghirahim moved in closer. Link felt him looming, could smell the warm sandalwood of his natural odor, and ghastly fires from whatever underworld he came from. It was a scent Link was never supposed to know so intimately—never supposed to want this badly. He moved his legs apart more; Ghirahim breathed into his face harshly while his hand held firm. “You pretty thing…” a long, slow finger rubbed around the head of his cock, a thumb rubbing in circles lower down the shaft. “You sweet voiced spirit…” Link panted as the touch filled his senses and that voice called out in a heated hiss, “You insignificant tiny light… You puerile pathetic _bug_... I will snuff you out, I will—”

Link chimed to cut him off.

Ghirahim growled, annoyed immediately, and then that hand stroked the full way down his cock. Link grinned through his following moan. The demon stroked up and down once with another growl, tugging at his exposed cock, tantalizing fingers playing with it in softer strokes that followed. Link was never this slow with himself. He just got it done and forgot about it. But Ghirahim was taking his time—he was methodical, careful, even as he was losing control. The palm of his hand glided up one side of his cock, fingers dancing along the length as he went; then he pulled the tips of his fingers down it, still with pressure, grabbing him at the base once more.

He touched Link like he wanted to learn every angle. That hand held him entirely, large and warm and commanding. 

“You insolent _brat_ ,” Ghirahim said, his fingers gliding back up, playing at his swollen cock until they pressed into its head. “Don’t suppose you can control me with petty little tricks.” The demon skirted along his cock gently at first, teasing until Link whined. Then he rubbed it with deliberate firmness. “You will pay dearly for disrespecting me. I will watch you unravel, make you beg for a release that will never come.”

Link chimed again, a ring of bright sounds he couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to. Half embarrassed he gripped at the tight fabric over Ghirahim’s stomach. He tugged at it, tilting his head up, doing his best to meet the demon’s eyes; met his magic for a beat, but dropped this away to let the demon’s sweep over him again. 

Growling just under his breath—still frustrated—Ghirahim rubbed and pulled at Link's cock in ceaseless repetition, up and down and up and down until Link felt dizzy. It swelled further, fully hard in the cool air of the temple. Link felt it grow in a way it never had before, bringing itself to a fullness he’d never known; everytime Ghirahim dragged his hand up his cock he pulled slightly, grip stopping just under the head to tug. The pressure was unimaginable; it didn’t feel real. He couldn't be doing this—giving himself like this inside Hylia's temple to a demon whose magic wanted to swallow him whole. Link’s head swooned with heat—he wanted out, he wanted to scream, he wanted to be held through this forever, he just _wanted_.

He panted as the demon shifted, his grip rearranged so he could move a little faster. Ghirahim stopped at his head and rolled his fingers over it, one at a time like he was tapping impatiently on a table. The claws were held at bay—and it made Link want to laugh, because he wasn't afraid at all but Ghiraim was right he _should_ be—they should be fighting, they were supposed to be fighting—Link was happy they were doing this instead.

He could feel the mounting pressure in his stomach and thighs, but strained to hold it off; he didn't want this to be over; wanted to be held like this until he fell apart.

“You are being obstinate,” Ghirahim hissed in his ear, his tongue lapping at its tip. A sleek grin spread out across Link's face, his mouth hung open in desperate pants. “Come for me, little sword.” Link rolled his head back, mindless but trying to hold himself together just to keep that hand there, just to hear those hissing whispers in his ear. Fingers slipped down his cock and then a palm dragged flatly up it—his knees gave out, and he was held up; a forehead pressed into his temple and hotly Ghirahim breathed against his ear, “Do as you are _told_ , Link.”

He came with a loud groan, his body losing control but held up by a knowing hand. Ghirahim grabbed him hard and finished him in ruthless strokes that were still so slow, gradual and heavy and pulling. Link heard a feral growl; claws dug into his lower back, sinking into his chainmail. He felt that tongue lick at his throat—it must be long to reach like that, he thought absently as his body shuddered. 

His orgasm seemed to end, white semen spilling out, but a second wave of pleasure surged and without warning he was coming again. With widening eyes Link gripped desperately at the tight cloth of Ghirahim’s lower stomach.

“I’m-” he gasped and arched up with his whole body as he came a second time. More chimes rang out but he had no way to stop them and the cracking moan that worked up his throat was the same. “Ghirahi—” he cut off at the last syllable, whiteness clouding his head and coming for longer than he ever had; he felt himself expended, felt the hand holding him grip tight to rock him through it, felt stunned shock from the demon as his magic overwhelmed Link and held him just as surely as that hand.

He slumped once the sensation shook completely through him. He breathed thickly. His chest swelled and deflated. His skin felt numb. His spent arousal was heavy, still hanging outside of his open pants. Still held but now softly. Link felt like a mess, disheveled, _used_ , but he couldn't say he wasn't happy about it. 

Claws moved hair from his eyes, and trailed behind his ear. Ghirahim was still holding his cock, post-orgasm quakes raking through him, his body cooling uncomfortably. Link tried to breathe normal breaths. He fingered at the fabric of a form-fitting suit.

He didn't know he could get hard like that—or come twice in a row—or for so long. More importantly, more surprisingly, he didn't know he could feel so gleeful, letting someone do that to him. Ghirahim’s darker words still rang in his head: _I will snuff you out; Trite little blade of light as you are; I could quell the revolting pull of light from your body with but a single finger._ Link knew he hadn't meant them—or more accurately he knew _how_ he meant them. His magic told him, and so did his hands. Link touched his own mouth, not sure why; but when he did he found his fingers shaking.

He didn't know sex could be like that. He felt like he was dropping out of the sky, not sure if his loftwing would catch him. 

He felt like he'd just gotten away with a dark secret.

Even now, semen spilled and his flaccid cock hanging out in the open cool air, that hand held him; Link should be embarrassed but instead he just felt hot. 

Ghirahim's hand left his spent arousal, and in the following silence Link knew he was being examined, least of all because the magic searched him. “You paint a pretty picture, defiled as you are.” Ghirahim shifted. Link could hear the rustling fabric and feel him, anyway, close as they were. A knee slipped carefully in between his thighs. It was just barely touching his now overly sensitive cock. The knee moved up gently; a hand played at his ear; Link shivered and a voice followed by darkly warm magic washed over his tingling body, “Such an obedient little sword… So willfully _used_.”

Link felt his head bloom with heat, too much of it already.

“It would be improper, I suppose...” Ghirahim started, removing his knee; Link felt the loss but his body was buzzing, imbued metal still unnaturally hot. He took a breath of relief, and the demon continued, “...to leave you in this state.”

He heard the strange, wet sound of a tongue licking, and Link didn’t have to try very hard to figure out what the demon was doing. After a moment Ghirahim spoke and confirmed his suspicions.

“Even your expenditure submits itself to sickly candescence,” he said, sounding distracted. The licking continued and Link’s mind raced, trying to decipher what the demon was saying, trying _not_ to imagine what he was doing while he said it. “You certainly are of the goddess’s rule... Such light should repulse a demon lord as I…”

That void-sound met Link’s ears next. The sound he’d heard at the start, like air rushing to fill empty space. The firm weight of magic followed and the next thing he knew he was clean, no evidence of their previous activity. Even his hair felt cleaner as if he’d just washed it. 

The magic fluxed against his spent cock, cleaning this too, and it felt just as warm as his hand had. 

With a pleased hum, Ghirahim tucked him back inside his pants. The buttons were done up liquid-smooth and his deft claws were perfectly precise; his hands were amazing, that was all Link could focus on. They were under the front of his tunic, taking care of him. “You are loud, as well,” Ghirahim said. His tongue slipped out, and Link felt its heat close to his face. “What would you do if someone had heard your incessant chiming?”

He didn't answer. He couldn't, not with those hands where they were, where they had been… 

His belt was re-fastened and tugged tight.

“There you are, little sword.” A gentle claw trailed down the side of his face. The demon sighed. “Filled to the brim with my dark power, overheated by my hands…” Three claws now dragged back up his cheek, over one eyebrow, and down the bridge of his nose. “What a pretty sight you are…”

Ghirahim went quiet after that. He continued petting at Link’s face, ears, neck, and collarbone, every so often letting out a wistful, desperate sort of sigh. Link could feel his magic still but it had fogged over—he felt his own growing stronger, felt the demon letting him in, and Link—sure enough that he knew what that meant now—smiled brightly. 

He took the wrist of one of the hands on his face. Link set Ghirahim’s hand over his heart, and then he reached up. Holding the demon’s jaw, rubbing a thumb across it, he tugged gently downward. Whatever this was—whatever they were supposed to be or not supposed to be—Link wasn’t leaving here without this.

But his hand was met with resistance.

Ghirahim sucked back air through his nose.

“What have you _done_ to me?”

“Huh—”

Link felt the change in his energy. It was again like a switch had been flipped. That hazey, content fog turned torrid. It fluxed and rolled like a storm cloud. The magic became defensive and Link’s, let in for only moments, was blocked out completely.

He heard Ghirahim take a step back. That hand on Link’s face fell away, the one he had on Ghirahim’s jaw fell with it.

“There will be none of _that_ , Skychild,” he said, the anger in his voice like a fortress. “Consider this endeavour of ours singular. Nothing more than an ill-advised distraction.” He practically spat the words. 

Link reached out blindly, trying to find the soft fabric of his shirt, but his hands grabbed nothing and Ghirahim only laughed.

“Next we meet, little sword,” the demon said, his words hissing like steam on ice, “it will be in bloodshed.”

“ _Wait-_ ”

That void sound called out, a vicious flux of negative energy, and then Link was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~If you're worried don't be, Ghirahim called Link 'pretty' SEVEN times~~


	2. Eldin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Okay Mia, each chapter is 10k or less
> 
> Also me:

The red fire of Eldin Volcano twisted whip-like into the cloudy sky above, scorching the air in ribbons. Ghirahim stood at the base of the volcano, scanning the area. Eldin was as tyrannically hot as he recalled it to be. It had been some hundred years since the demon had been permitted to return to the surface he apparently lorded over. He had not seen this volcano since the days when multitudes of those blunderous Goron infested it.

While being entrusted with the task of resurrecting the Demon King was a Great Honour and proffered only to the Most Deserving… Ghirahim would rather not, if he were being honest. He had enjoyed the surface for what it was prior to Demise’s initial uprising. All of its landscapes, the handsome way it sat beneath the at-the-time blue sky, how it whispered with winds and sang with birds and people alike. He had liked its various inhabitants too, if only as entertainment, and perhaps at times for their food and music. More than once the demon had shirked his responsibilities in the underworld and crept into the mortal realm for a slight reprieve from the politics and dramatics of below.

Ghirahim enjoyed a certain amount of chaos, but the Demon King would watch the world burn. And what was the _purpose_ in all that power if there were nothing left to rule over? Why rid the surface of its pleasures?

Hylia had hardly been any better, however. She delivered all her precious humans to the sky and left the other races down on the surface to face Demise’s hordes. It did not seem very _godly_ to him. No, the goddess was no better, the underworld was rotten, and the surface had been all the demon had – and even now that it was little more than grass and _kikwis_ he still preferred it to all the rest.

Ghirahim frowned down at the red earth of Eldin. All these petty contemplations meant nothing. He had been given an incontrovertible task. Demise had placed his little squabble with Hylia above all else, and the Demon King would accept no less than absolute compliance. There were consequences for neglecting these sorts of contracts. Raising the Demon King was not an _option._

Ghirahim could not afford to become distracted.

As if mocking him, a chime rang out across the fiery, miasmic air of Eldin. Each time one of those bright tones graced his ears Ghirahim was propelled back to Skyview Temple, iron-hard fingers on his face searching him, memorizing him, feeling his mouth for its expression. Ghirahim had never left himself so vulnerable before, not for a single moment in all the millennia that composed his long life.

It had to have been trickery. He could not say what or how. When he first heard the chimes echoing throughout the temple he had wanted to discover the source, had been drawn to it like a long forgotten melody. And when he had uncovered the origin he could not explain what came over him, only that he wished to touch the younger man with reverence. 

Of course it had been a _trick_ , Ghirahim thought, fingers curling like vines into fists. He was a fool.

Another chime called across the vast redness of the volcano and the demon frowned. He would rather avoid the little hero altogether yet their tasks were identical: locate the Gate of Time. Without a doubt Link’s aim was to hinder Demise’s return though Ghirahim could not guess at exactly how, nor why he required the gate to do so. The Imprisoned was a weak implication of what the Demon King would become, and easy enough to subdue in this era.

Another chime. How did the sword manage _not_ to draw the attention of every single monster trekking about the surface? Ghirahim had heard those incessant noises from kilometers away.

Was the boy here alone now, too? Surely not. His master may be negligent but it would be fatal to continue to leave him unheld. Ghirahim did not know a great deal about the sort of spirit Link had become—he had only known one other during Demise and Hylia’s little feud—but he knew enough. The connection between him and this _Zelda_ would eat the sword alive if left unattended. It would only be a matter of time before shame drove the spirit mad.

Well what concern was it to him? If human stupidity took care of that little issue for him that was surely preferable.

**  
―**

  
Link swooned as another roll of blaring heat worked through his body.

He wasn’t sweating because he couldn’t, but he felt like he was _melting_. Eldin was hotter than the sun, he was pretty sure. Eldin was hotter than anything. Zelda had warned him when she’d told him to explore the volcano next. She had said it was dangerous… But Link hadn’t expected anything like this.

He swayed on his feet but kept his attention focused. Maybe once he got inside the temple it would be cooler. Skyview had been.

Link felt warm in a different way at the thought; warm in a way that bloomed from the inside instead. 

After the demon had vanished, Link tried his best to gather himself. He couldn’t explain what had happened, or why, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it either. Was he really supposed to fight Ghirahim? Were they really on opposite sides? And why after they had… connected… Why had he run off? Link wasn’t any sort of expert at this kind of thing but he could tell Ghirahim was just as… That he liked it, too. 

He tried not to think about it. When he’d returned to Skyloft for the night, reporting no good news to Zelda and feeling the weight of her disappointment, he’d gone straight to bed. And he’d tried not to think about anything. 

_You are lucky to be so pretty._

_Allow me to guide you to your perch, pretty bird._

_You sweet voiced spirit…_

_Such an obedient little sword… So willfully_ used.

 _Filled to the brim with my dark power, overheated by my hands. What a pretty sight you are…_

All of these words had swarmed through his head that night. For every mean thing Ghirahim said he had said something equally as sweet, and the strange back and forth had left Link burning alone in his room. The memory of his hands sent him overboard and he was touching himself before he knew it. Tried to keep quiet. Tried not to say his name into the dark. 

He blushed furiously at the memory now, which did nothing for the heat boiling his steel. 

Embarrassment aside, it had been fun. Especially when Link had found an ounce of confidence and teased the demon right back.

But in the end Ghirahim had left. And if they really were enemies it probably wouldn’t happen again. It probably shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

_Next we meet, little sword, it will be in bloodshed._

That wasn’t going to happen either, though. Link might not be able to be with him again but he definitely wasn’t going to _kill_ him. Not for anything. He would figure out some other way.

He sent out a chime, painting himself a picture in his head, and then continued on. 

Collecting all the key pieces and unlocking the door to the Earth Temple was a bit of a task, but the mogmas were nice enough to help him. The flower bombs were fun too, if a little loud. Every time he blew one up a bokoblin was hot on his heels.

The heat made him a bit slow but he managed to fight each one off, and it wasn’t long before he entered the temple. 

The air was even hotter inside. It thrashed out from the entrance, boiling down in the depths of the surface like hellfire, and dashing his hopes for a cooler temperature. Gritting his teeth through it, Link entered the heat.

Once inside, a few pings gave him the general layout: narrow stone bridges surrounded by rivers of fiery water. Zelda had explained what ‘lava’ was before he’d left. _If you fall in_ , she’d said, _you’ll die. Be careful, okay?_

Link made his way through the temple, mindful of his feet, searching for any sign of the gate. 

An hour went by before he knew it. He was so hot… Maybe he should go back to Skyloft for some potions, or find a few fairies. The fairies were more effective now that he wasn’t human. Could he literally melt? Was that possible? It felt like he was going to melt.

“Well,” a sonorous, low voice reached his ears as it slinked along the thick, humid air. “Looks like we meet again.” 

**  
―**

  
Ghirahim had procured himself a heightened perch atop a ceremonial dragon’s head, which hung above a precarious rock bridge, lava frothing below. He stared down at the figure clad in green. Link stood as a single point amidst all the golden stonework and red magma. Smirking as dark blue eyes shifted upward to face him, head slightly turned so that it was his ears that met Ghirahim moreso, the demon continued:

“You were not difficult prey at all, Skychild. I’m disappointed.” He waved a hand through the air, the act visually useless but a habit nonetheless. “It’s a wonder not every monster in the vicinity is down here attempting to kill you. Your obnoxious means of sight ought to have rendered you a corpse by now.” 

The glare he was gifted was more curious than angry. It came with the sideways tilt of his head, no words, and most infuriating of all without the procurement of that ethereal saber. 

Ghirahim flexed his fingers, the action once more absolutely ineffective in present company. The little bird beneath him turned his head, listening for movement. His jaw was set stiffly. His brows, bushy but neatly kept, were drawn down. The lines of his face, the contour of his nose, the strength in his hands... he had felt them all before and briefly Ghirahim felt now the pull of luminous magic, the cloying call of this confounding sword. He scowled darkly. It was no great effort to block him out. The boy may have learned how to control his energies but he was not adept. 

“I see you have yet to locate the gate, despite your tireless searching,” Ghirahim said. “How must your master feel? Such a _useless_ sword, one so abysmally inefficient she sees no value in wielding you.” 

Finally he was given a glare full of reproach. White, square teeth bared up at him. The corners of his mouth fell. Ghirahim shifted on his perch, resting his chin in his palm to peer down at the hero with widening eyes. 

“Why else would she send you off on your own? Any weapon worth its weight is utilized, is held by wanting hands.” He flicked the white curtain of his hair, mocking laughter punctuating the unseen action. “I suppose you will never know such fealty.” 

“Leave her out of this,” came the stubborn reply.

Ghirahim’s lips crawled into a vicious smile of their own make. “Why? She has sent you here to meet your end,” he said, leaning forward on his teetering seat. “ _I_ am merely here to hasten the process!”

He snapped his fingers loudly, calling forth a row of black daggers. They lined themselves like a dark army on his left and right, flanking the demon. They were not soundless as they soared down towards their target.

Ghirahim knew they would not meet their mark. The spirit would not have survived on his own for so long if such a meager attack could fell him.

Yet to his astonishment rather than dodging the onslaught Link stayed perfectly still, holding a palm up as if that alone could block the wrung of daggers. A brightness formed, golden and blinding. In a blink the hero produced a shield of light around himself. 

It hovered dome-like, encapsulating his green visage. The daggers dissolved uselessly against the barrier, evaporating into black and red smoke. 

The barrier faded, and Link took a step forward.

“Ghirahim–”

The demon glared harsher. His words began to lose their integrity to the heat building in his throat. “Oh I see you’ve learned some petty _tricks_ since last we met,” he said.

With an outstretched hand he called his black sword, and then sent himself in a flash of black fog to stand before the spirit. Ghirahim struck forward with a quick jab, fangs gleaming as if slick with venom. He aimed to wound. It would be best to do away with him now, and quickly. 

A hasty chime rang out and the attack was blocked, that crystalline small saber flashing up to meet his own blade. Metal clanked, the bright sound echoing on heated rock walls. The thundering of rolling lava filled the resulting silence as Ghirahim sneered down at dark blue eyes.

“As I told you, Skychild,” The demon licked his blade, engaged as it was with another’s, ensuring sound carried where sight could not. “We are bound to meet in bloodshed.” He pushed his own sword against a white one, stepping forward until Link was forced to step back. His peach throat bobbed. Even amidst the fire and magma of the volcano Ghirahim could smell something akin to sunlight, to the forest, steel forged by fires too pure for his touch. 

The frown on a pink mouth turned sad, and Link said, “I don’t want to fight you.” 

Ghirahim laughed mere inches from his face, although the blades between them obstructed the distance. “A strange thing, desire… It means so _little_ in the face of divine intervention.” He took another step forward, the edge of the rock bridge drawing nearer to Link’s back. “Let’s see if you are able to draw _blood_ with that saber, or if your blessed disposition forfeits you entirely to weakness.” 

He turned on the balls of his feet, sweeping to cut along Link’s abdomen. A chime rang out and then, not as quick as he had done so before, Link parried the low strike.

“ _Blocking_ me will not win you this fight, boy.” 

Link’s crystal saber lifted with his black sword and they were, once more, locked near their eyes. Ghirahim felt the press of familiar magic and he sneered, forcing his own to blot it out entirely. 

“ _No_ ,” he hissed through the empty space of crossed blades, “You will _not_ sneak your nauseating light in through any crevice, not through even the tiniest crack.” The smell of sunlight and fire and whatever humanity Link clung to met Ghirahim again as surely as that light. All of it enveloped him, seeking entrance, while the demon attempted a furious snarl. “We are on opposing sides of a war waged by gods and there is naught to do but perform our parts to perfection!” 

Link’s glare did not falter but strengthened. It was his hands that faltered. Ghirahim’s black sword gained ground and pushed both blades towards Link’s face.

“No more _distractions_. I will bleed you dry for your trickery.”

The hero regarded him still with that unwavering glare. His mouth opened and shut with unspoken words, until something unknown broke the seal. 

“This is stupid,” Link said. Ghirahim heard the clatter of a dropped saber. It dissolved away into nothing at their feet, and then dark blue eyes were staring straight through him. “I’m not fighting you.”

“Then you submit yourself to death.” 

That glare shifted from stubborn to irritated. Ghirahim watched and waited with shallow breaths. “You've been following me since I got to Eldin. If you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.”

“I would never do something so dishonourable as attack my opponent from behind.”

“You're not behind me right now,” Link said, and he lifted his chin to expose a soft throat.

Ghirahim growled and pressed his sword against the offered neck. _Soft_ may have been how that throat seemed but the metal he was imbued with made it as tough as the spirit desired at any given moment. Ghirahim knew as much. This was no submission. 

Yet as the sharp edge of his blade met the sun-kissed skin, it nearly sank in through supple mortal flesh.

It _was_ soft, and offered without defense, and it was _maddening_ to realize this little sword did not take him at _all_ at his word

“You’re looking for the gate too, right?” Link asked. The tips of bare fingers were set along the blade of Ghirahim’s black sword, not pushing, only resting. “We can look together.” 

“I do not believe you fully comprehend the roles we play in this.” Ghirahim loomed down over him, though the action had little purpose. He considered releasing a pulse of dark magic but thought better of it. 

Link offered no response other than steadfast silence. 

Ghirahim continued to loom pointlessly. He felt hapless despite himself, black sword still at a soft throat. “I am to raise the great evil your master is destined to subdue with _you_ in hand,” he said with a small frown. “The Demon King is more powerful than you could ever hope to imagine. She will fail, and you will both meet your deaths.”

Link merely shrugged. “We’ll see. Zelda’s pretty tough.” 

“She is clearly _inept_ if she does not realize how detrimental it is to send you off on your own.” 

One blond brow quirked up. With a black sword still pressed along his throat, Link smirked. “Worried about me?”

Ghirahim visibly bristled. “I am offended that such guileless children have been chosen to thwart the Demon King. Your master’s lack of intelligence is insulting.”

Link let out a small laugh. “She’s smart, I promise,” he said with a wry smile, one that burned the backs of Ghirahim’s eyes. Such a fond expression for someone who had all but tossed him out. It vanished and instead a curious glance was given to the demon, confidence waning momentarily. “We don’t have anything to fight over without the gate, right?” Link said. “If we find it we can worry about it then.” 

Fingertips upon his sword still did not push, only remained resting along its steel. 

“Your naivety is dangerous,” Ghirahim said. 

Link shrugged again. 

After a bout of glaring silence, Ghirahim withdrew his blade. He chuckled darkly from the depths of his chest. “Very well,” he said, closing his eyes as he laughed. “If you wish to postpone the inevitable I will not stop you.” He sheathed his weapon in a fluid movement. 

When Ghirahim opened his eyes, it was to a gleaming, toothy smile. 

He regarded it as one might regard an insect and said, “Seeing as this inanity was your idea, I suggest _you_ carry the burden of leading us.” 

One eyebrow quirked up at him. “You remember that I’m blind, right?” 

If the demon accidentally let out a single huff of surprised laughter, he was only given another grin in return.

**  
―**

  
“ _Not_ that way,” Ghirahim snapped. 

Link folded his arms and frowned. It was not directed at Ghirahim but instead at the opposing rock wall, where a heavy stone door sat.

“You’re the one who wanted me to lead,” Link replied, hands reaching out for their intended target.

Ghirahim scoffed. “There is nothing of note in there. Why do you insist on exploring every single nook and cranny in this crumbling ruin? Do you not have a task to complete?”

“This is my first time down here,” the spirit replied as he slotted fingers beneath the base of a considerable stone door. Lava from the rivers below licked up towards his ankles, but this did not seem to deter Link any. “I want to explore as much as I can.” He groaned as he forced the door open with a great heave and flexing arms. Gravel and stone from the wall around it fell into blond hair.

The giant stone slab gave way to a small room. Link grinned and made an obnoxious sound of delight. He entered without hesitation. 

Ghirahim elected to remain outside. 

From within, the spirit continued speaking. 

“They don’t let blind kids do anything,” Link said, the sound of a chest being pried open punctuating his words, “They don’t let me do anything, still, even though I’m not a kid anymore.” He came out of the room with his arms full of rupees. “What colour are these?” 

“Green,” Ghirahim supplied. 

Link pouted, clearly disappointed, and then shoved them into a pouch. “But no one can tell me what to do, not way down here.”

“You are bound to a far harsher servitude, you realize.” 

“I’ve done more in the past month than I ever did in Skyloft.” The spirit turned on his heels and continued down the rock-bridge path. Ghirahim regarded him with a placid look before following. Lava churned violently beneath them. “I fought a stalfo, I’ve slept in the woods, I’ve gone swimming… I met a _dragon_ ,” he said with a heartfelt grin, one which soon faded to all softness as he added, quietly, “We… what we did. What we...” Link stammered and shook his head, his awful green cap swaying with the motion. 

Staring from behind, Ghirahim watched the tips of ears turn red. His mouth worked itself into a pleased smirk; one he quickly stamped out. 

“Anyway…” Link continued, a chime resounding as they veered left down the path, “Don't you want to look around, too? You said you haven’t been to the surface in a long time.”

“No.” 

“Really?”

“The land you walk now was once much more... lively.” 

“Oh. So you used to visit it a lot? Before… everything?” 

“I had nothing better to do.” 

“Uh huh,” Link said, smiling.

“The underworld is dreadful.” 

“I guess it would be.”

Ghirahim flexed his fingers, wishing his gloves were gone from him but having no reason to do so. “You are incomprehensible. We cannot simply hold _idle_ conversation and trot about this temple together. There are _gods_ at work here.”

“You know,” Link said, chiming once and then heading right down a fork in the path, “For a demon…” he turned around abruptly and Ghirahim nearly walked into him. His smile was lopsided and bashful, at the same time that it was clearly teasing. “...you sure are afraid to break the rules.”

“ _You_ –” He clenched his jaw stiffly enough his fangs prodded into his bottom lip. He exhaled longly and, calmer, Ghirahim said, “Cease your attempts to bait me. They are pathetically transparent.” 

_That’s fine._ A pulse of melodic magic unfolded over the demon, so pliable and unassuming, so gentle and sure. Link tilted his head up toward him. _I’m not afraid of what I want._

“You ought to be,” Ghirahim said like a threat. 

_You don’t want to fight me, either._

“Do not presume to tell _me_ –” He growled below his breath and once more forced himself to remain calm. “What we want is of little consequence, as I have told you multiple times, though your thick skull seems impenetrable. We will be forced to face each other in combat, lest you plan on _allowing_ me to raise the Demon King.” 

Another wave of fluctuating light. Words echoed inside Ghirahim’s head, as clear and bright as any diamond. _That doesn’t matter, not right now._

Ghirahim laughed openly. How naive was this spirit? Had being surrendered to the will of his goddess taught him nothing?

“It _will_ matter, you insufferable brat,” he snapped towards the defiant face before him. “Wipe that obnoxious expression from your mouth! You are the worst sort of irritant, a _hideous_ form of divine intent brought to life.”

_I thought I was ‘pretty.’_

The folded arms and cocked chin bespoke a confidence that had been merely an undercurrent during their initial meeting. Now it raged like a flood. Ghirahim felt more seeking light, currents of magic reaching for him. It was simple enough to keep his own on guard, to construct it as wards against that natural force. Link’s energy was akin to a forest. It was from the chaotic wilds of the surface, not only divine, and briefly Ghirahim wondered if he was aware of its source, or…

“ _Stop_.” He was perturbed by the desperation in the single word, and further by his own gloved hand that reached for his own temple.

Link’s confident expression waned to confusion, then fell to worry. _Does it hurt?_

“Of course it does not _hurt_. Do not play dumb with me, boy.” 

_I’m not-_

“Use your infernal _mouth_.” 

Though the onslaught of his magic ceased completely, his confident smile returned. _Why?_

“I do not enjoy your crystalline voice ringing in my head.”

_You liked it before._

Ghirahim dug fingers into his temple, teeth grinding. Sword spirit or not, chosen by a god or not, a simple _child_ should not be able to creep their way under his skin! Should not purport to _know_ him! And that incessant diamond-like chime of his voice, the unrelenting waves of flora-like magic, separate from all divinity and pressing, pulling, _requesting_ — 

“You had best learn your place,” he said in a rush, anger coursing up his spine like lightning. He leered and step-by-step walked Link backward. Ghirahim advanced like a mountainous tidal wave in the deadly heart of night. A blond head hit a rock wall, yet the demon knew this could not hope to harm him. “Our _union_ was singular, a moment of weakness not to be repeated.” Link’s bottom lip fell open to that unnerving slight-wonder, that doe-eyed look the hero donned when distracted, presumably now by nothing more than Ghirahim’s voice. 

The demon’s anger simmered to a boil, then. A black, clawed finger reached out; his gloves had vanished and he could not recall when he had done so. Silently he swiped a thumb across a pink bottom lip. Another roll of iridescent power came from the hero, obviously unintentional; perhaps, then, he did not have complete control. 

“I have let none treat me as you do,” Ghirahim said. 

He was gifted only with silence and that continued look of entranced awe. 

The demon frowned, his focus shifting abruptly. The mouth under his thumb was too hot. He set his hand fully upon a cheek and felt more radiating warmth. And it was not the same heat that had overtaken this spirit in Skyview—it was the sharp scald of metal left to soak up its fiery surroundings. 

“You are–”

There was a great, sudden lurch. The floor beneath their feet began to shake, and the rock walls of the volcano groaned and creaked. They froze for a moment, surprise reflected on both of their faces.

Ghirahim released the overheated form in front of him and turned around. He felt the spirit’s call again, only altered: concerned. The demon ignored it. 

“What’s...” 

The lava from the river below bulged, glooping sounds of wetness filling the cavern. Gradually, a bulbous form emerged from its depths.

“Ah,” Ghirahim said. 

“What? What is it?” 

It had been some hundred years since he had seen the beast, but he knew it well enough. Ghirahim unsheathed the sword at his hip while the monster began crawling up the side of the rocky path. He stepped in front of Link, blocking him from the fiend. “Your goddess has left you a little _present_ , how thoughtful.” 

A chime rang out beside him. For a moment Ghirahim was angry―surely the fool would alert the monster to their presence with such a noise―yet Scaldera did not appear to hear the chime.

Perhaps it was deaf. Certainly Ghirahim had never seen any ears on the creature. 

“That thing’s _huge_.”

“It is furthermore on fire.” 

“Well,” Link said, his crystal saber materializing in his hand, “you wanted a fight.”

The demon chuckled wryly. 

Link stepped up beside him, brow drawn to concentration. Ghirahim tensed. He had never fought side-by-side with any other being. Not once. The secondary presence unnerved him.

“Ready?”

He offered no reply. 

The magma monster attacked with fiery rocks, each one hurling through the hot air of the Earth Temple. For a moment he concerned himself with the fact of blindness. How would Link know the initial attack was a projectile? He nearly stood in front of the spirit once more, but found there was no need.

A chime called out and Link ducked under the hurling, burning rocks without effort. He moved as seamless as water. 

Ghirahim resolved to ignore the spirit for the duration of the battle. He was unused to a partner and the noise was distracting. Clearly Link could take care of himself.

Yet as more chimes rang out the demon glowered, the sounds resonating in his head like the hum of an insistent fly. Still he ignored them. He did his best to ignore them.

The hits they landed were ineffective on a hard outer shell. And although Ghirahim knew of Scaldera, he had never needed to fight the beast before. It could not be invulnerable but he could not imagine how to slay a creature of rock and fire. Perhaps its eye... 

Suddenly he heard a fierce yell, a sound so loud he scarcely believed it had come from that demure mouth. His concentration was torn apart and he stared openly as a strike of green charged past him.

The spirit latched onto a rocky face like a skulltula clinging to a wall, his saber sinking into Scaldera’s singular eye with a low growl that was felt more than heard. The ferocity in the act was jarring. Ghirahim watched muscles bend beneath a homely green tunic. He listened again and felt that fierceness, the plain desire to _attack_ , that rolling magic of a winding woods flowing out from the spirit all through the battlefield.

Ghirahim had never wielded any sword of any significance. He had always carried a simple, sleek black one, denoting more often than not to use his daggers. He had never desired to hold any weapon in particular. 

A clawed hand gripped around the hilt of his sword, unable to tear his gaze away from the ruthless attack before him.

Scaldera, even as it shrieked and was blinded by a blade of crystalline steel, sent out another onslaught of fiery rocks. Ghirahim did not see it. He could not possibly have seen it.

A burning boulder hit him square in the chest, directly in his line of vision. The breath was knocked out of him, lungs compressed under the force and heat of the projectile. It burned a hole through his white suit, which would have irritated him tremendously if he weren’t lost to shock. 

The demon fell backward. The lava glittered below.

There was a chime. A sound like ringing gemstones. Something warm halted his deathly plummet. Pale yellow encased him, a forcefield of magic that began behind him as a wall and gradually folded over into a dome. Ghirahim could only blink dumbly. 

Link unlatched himself from Scaldera’s side and ran over, another chime ringing out to map his path. He did not stop until he was within this shield of light as well.

“Are you okay?”

A hand was on his arm. Ghirahim was sitting, close to the edge of the rocky bridge yet safely pressed into warm light. It felt exactly as the spirit did, exactly as that hand did, earnest and honest and unafraid. Wild as any ancient forest. 

“What is this?” Ghirahim whispered, more to himself. It was a question afforded to their general situation but assumed, naturally, to be solely about this peculiar shield.

Link’s hand left his arm in want of his scorched chest. Blood had begun to trickle down, ruining his clothes further, though the wound was shallow.

_I have to get inside its mouth._

That was enough to slacken the demon’s jaw. “ _What?”_

_I have to go inside it_ , Link said again. 

“You will do _no_ such thing.” 

_Trust me._

And then, most bewildering of all, the spirit leaned in close and kissed Ghirahim firmly on the cheek. 

Link pulled back with a flushed face. He had missed his mark, only slightly; had pressed in closer to his jawline.

Ghirahim stared, could only hope to do as much. The lines of his face contorted with fear and something akin to snakes rolled in his stomach.

_I’ll be right back_ , Link said, already turning away. _Don’t move._

 _Do not tell me what to do_ , Ghirahim wanted to snap back at him, but his head was full of a forest, vines of light twisting until the encasement of this magic forcefield was all he felt.

With one final squeeze of his upper arm the spirit was gone, bound once more for the fight.

Ghirahim raised his claws to his cheek, warm magic continuing to encase him. That mouth had been far too heated, that hand as well, and if he entered that beast of fire he would doubtless come out even warmer. Why did his master neglect him so? What cowardly form of mortal was she? Ghirahim felt his empty hands and he wanted to scream. 

He watched from the ground as Link disappeared inside Scaldera’s giant maw. Two beats of his heart marked the passage of time. A crystal saber appeared, stabbing between cracks in the rock from the fiery insides of the monster. Light began pouring out from each crack. Scaldera shrieked.

The beast died, turning to dust as it withered away under such intense power. The spirit emerged in the wake of its defeat.

Ghirahim stood as Link returned to him. He waved a hand to magic away the dirt from his clothes. There was nothing to do for the fresh blood which continued to leak.

“I think…” Link shook his head, his cheeks crimson. Overheated. _I can heal you._

Ghirahim frowned. “No.”

_Hylia asked me what I wanted, before she turned me. What mattered most to me… I told her I wanted to be able to protect the people I care about._

“We must― You must leave this volcano. I can send you anywhere you so desire,” Ghirahim said, surprised he’d said it, afraid of the quiet desperation barely veiled in his own words. He gazed down upon a determined face. “This wound could not hope to kill me.” 

_It’s not about that_ , Link replied, light already building at his palms. They were set decisively on Ghirahim’s chest, around the perimeter of the bleeding burn.

Even as white vines of light began to encroach upon his skin, Ghirahim pulled those hands away by their wrists, snarling down at eyes that could not see him. He put all of that emotion in his voice and the vice-gip of his claws. “You are going to _ruin_ yourself, you idiotic whelp. Have you no sense of self preservation?” The wrists he held were hot enough to burn him. Ghirahim hissed and was forced to release them.

 _Have to find the gate_ , Link said, his hands falling back onto Ghirahim’s chest. _Can’t let you get to it first._

“ _You_ need to do as you are _told_.” 

The demon had not thought about the words before he spoke them.

A disoriented smile slipped across Link’s face. _You know I won’t_ , he said. _So just shut up and let me_.

Ghirahim offered no further protest, at least for the moment. Perhaps it would be faster to give him what he wanted. Link’s expression became one of familiar, avid concentration. Soon vines of light began to coil from his palms once more, twining around his chest like floral growth. The smoldering burns were overwhelmed with it.

Ghirahim quelled a rogue quiver as the spirit’s energy worked through him. 

When the light vanished the demon was whole again. Even his clothes had been mended. 

“I am removing you from this volcano,” he snapped while his vision blurred with lingering light. 

Link's sightless eyes didn't rise to meet his face. His small smile was directionless, although his explorative hands were anything but. They felt along the outer edges of the diamond shaped hole on the front of his suit. Yet there was an unsteadiness to it, and they continued to be far too hot, burning where they traced.

_Worried about me?_

Even the crystalline tone of his voice was distorted. 

When the hero began to wobble on his feet, it was no surprise. 

Ghirahim caught his considerable weight in his arms as Link collapsed. Fangs gleamed in a terrible frown and he said, “Someone ought to.” 

_...not Zelda's fault._

“I was not speaking of _her_.”

 _I think you’re jealous,_ Link said, the tone more like warped glass than crystal, almost as if he were inebriated. 

“You will _not_ goad me into–” With a frown he cut his speech short. Ghirahim held two upper arms and pushed the hero away from him. A blond head lulled forward. “I _am_ removing you from this place, and then I shall take my leave of you. Where do you wish to go? If you neglect to tell me I will deposit you where I see fit.” 

Link fell forward once more, his heavy weight slipping out of Ghirahim’s hands. He landed firmly against his chest. An overheated forehead pressed against grey skin.

Link said, _Nowhere._

“Do not test me.”

_There's one more room. That monster had to be guarding something._

“Even if the gate _were_ here, you senseless spirit, you are in no fit condition to fight for it. I could end you with one push off this bridge, or warp the light within you with a single spell. You are hardly able to lift your head let alone fend me off. Do you forget? I can feel your energies as well as you can feel mine and they are _dying_. So lest you wish to make a crypt of this temple I suggest you tell me where you would like to be whisked away to.”

_No. Need to find it, then I can go to Skyloft..._

A forehead rubbed against the diamond-shaped opening of his suit, soft hair on his skin. Ghirahim groaned in frustration, more debased than he had thought himself capable; the hero incited such reactiveness. 

“You are _unreasonable_ ,” he murmured, glaring down at the top of a blond head. 

An affirmative chime was his singular reply. 

Link's body was hot when the demon lifted him. Ghirahim held him by his back and beneath bent knees, glowering all the while, both at the spirit’s stubborn idiocy and at the expectation to cart this trite blade to his desired destination.

Ghirahim stormed across the bridge towards the final door, despite his heavy charge, and opened it with a silent spell. 

There was no gate inside. 

“What’s there?” Link asked aloud, albeit in an exhaustive whisper. 

The room was drastically cooler than the rest of Eldin. There was green grass, a small pool, few trees, and an unnecessary amount of wildflowers. There were no animals and they remained underground. The place was divine in origin, certainly. How else could wildlife grow down in the depths of a volcano?

There could be but one purpose for such an alcove: Perhaps on occasion, _rarely_ , the goddess offered what her chosen pawns required.

Ghirahim wasted little time. The door fell closed behind him and his form-fitting white shoes stamped deftly over blades of fresh, false grass. The water was cool as he waded into it, the colour too brightly blue, too clean to be natural. Link breathed in a gasp of surprise as the water met his body. Steam rolled into the air from metal-imbued skin. 

“What’s…”

“It seems your goddess bothered to provide you respite,” Ghirahim said, and offered no more of an explanation than that, certainly none for his actions.

Having no reason to wait and every reason to leave, to retain his separation from _this_ , Ghirahim made to slip the hero out of his arms. Link could rejuvenate himself here in this subterranean pool and exit the Earth Temple on his own. With Scaldera dead and no gate to search for, with every nook and cranny already explored, he would have no reason to be idle.

As he began to relieve his arms of their weight, two peach hands clasped at his cloak, which was now uncomfortably sodden.

 _Wait_ , that diamond voice spoke inside his head. 

The pull of disgusting, disorientating magic pulsed against his own, requesting no more than his presence, though memories of their initial meeting lingered in lines of light.

“You do not understand,” Ghirahim said. 

“Tell me, then.” A strong hand tugged at his cloak. “Ghirahim...” _I might not have a choice in my destiny, or becoming a sword, or… any of that. But they can’t make me fight you._

He laughed deeply, so quiet it was merely a vibration. “Oh Skychild. They certainly _can_. Your naivety is–”

Link tightened his grip around his cloak and the influx of magic that followed was louder, its brightness searing behind Ghirahim’s eyes. It was not a request. It was a promise.

_I’m not fighting you. I’m never going to. I don’t care what happens._

“Your stubbornness has been duly noted,” Ghirahim said, his arms still full of the sword spirit, unnaturally blue water lapping at his chest. “I am taking my leave of you, little bird.” He grimaced as the title slipped out unbidden, yet continued on. “You were lucky, this time. If the gate had been here I would have dyed this pool red with your blood.” 

Once more he began releasing his arms of their considerable burden. 

A hand reached up and found his jaw, landing off-target nearer to his throat. It slid up. _Stay_ , Link said, the single word echoing. _I didn’t forget. I can feel yours too, remember? You don’t have to be afraid. I_ –

Water shifted as Ghirahim stiffened. “I am not _afraid._ ” He spat the final word out as if it had turned to rot in his mouth.

Link’s smirk was nearly a smile, and he held Ghirahim’s jaw gently. _Could’ve fooled me._

“Cease your senseless _teasing_.” 

A thumb caressed his jawline. _Why don’t you make me?_

Unfocused blue eyes were turned up toward him, bleary in their overheatedness, their sightlessness, and buried in rolling magic. Ghirahim fought against the lightful waves but his voice slipped out of him as a soft, weak creature. “You are insufferable.”

 _I want you to stay._ The hand on his face moved as if it could hold him there and that thumb dragged seamlessly across his jaw again, the sound of displacing water trickling out once more. _I don’t know what this is, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about what we did and we don’t have to do it again if you don’t want to but I want you to stay._ The words jumbled up inside the demon’s head, and the dizzied face beneath him stared into oblivion. _Even if it can only be right now. Especially if…_

The crystalline voice faded to all shyness, though the hand remained undeterred upon his jaw. It felt a line over his cheek. Bare fingers glided across the diamond marking he could not feel. Dark blue eyes fell victim to further blankness as he saw with his hands, and Ghirahim watched with inscrutable silence, diffidence impeeding upon better judgement. What could once more hurt? he wondered while firm fingers wandered his face. The demon closed his eyes. Demise would rise and destroy everything along with the spirit in his arms, regardless of their actions here **.** Impermanence was all he could be certain of. 

Light lapped as gently as the cool water he stood in, both surrounding his form fully. 

“You’ve certainly found your tongue this time, little bird,” Ghirahim opened his eyes, and watched a gleam flicker in dark blue at the title. “What has freed it from its cage?”

_It’s easier to talk like this._

“I had noticed.” 

_You’re staying?_

“Who could refuse your pathetic begging?” 

He was gifted a wry frown that carried none of the heat Ghirahim knew it capable of. 

With a silent spell he rid himself of his cloak, cumbersome as it was in the water. 

The demon moved to rest against the edge of the pool. Liquid seeped uncomfortably through his suit as he sat down. The spirit lay along his thighs and against his chest, largely submerged in cool water, a ball of warmth held in his arms. Ghirahim secured him there further with taut hands and surrendered himself to bright blue water, regardless of his relative discomfort.

A hand lifted to press flatly against his chest, a rush of sunbright energy flowering from it, and he was unsure if that heat was magic or simply… warmth.

“How forward,” Ghirahim murmured, regarding the hand over his heart. 

It pulled away. Ghirahim took it in his own too quickly and set it once more on his chest, curling fingers around gloved ones, glad for their bare tips. “I did not tell you to stop,” he whispered, claws claiming the strong hand.

No response came save for trepid breathing. Ghirahim’s other arm held the spirit along his back, and he wished the homely tunic were not hindering such contact. “Rest,” he demanded. The form in his arms was still too heated. For a brief moment Ghirahim allowed a wave of his energy to course from their held hands.

Link relaxed with a sigh before blond eyelashes fluttered shut. 

He fell asleep instantaneously. It happened so quickly Ghirahim worried for a moment something was wrong. As he was now there was no need for such mortal action. But the metal-fused skin was cooling, and the faint pulses of his aura were the same as they had always been.

Even in his sleep that sweet press of light reached out. What was the difference, he wondered as he sat mutely in this subterranean pool, between the intentional waves the spirit sent out, and this seemingly passive call?

_I’m not fighting you. I’m never going to. I don’t care what happens._

It was not true. It could not be. It _would_ not be, not by the end of things.

An hour passed before Ghirahim felt the sword in his arms had cooled to a reasonable temperature. In perturbed silence he sat alone, until he could no longer bare it.

He stood up in the unnaturalness of bright blue water, drops rolling down the green fabric in his arms. It would be safe enough to lay him out on the grass of this oasis his goddess had left for him. Link would be more than able to return the way he came on his own.

The blades of grass had a strange, synthetic feel and there was no dirt beneath them, nor any insects hidden in the reeds. Perhaps the gate _had_ been here at some point, hidden under a mountain of fire. This seemed like the place for such an artifact.

It was not here now, at any rate, and Ghirahim had far outstayed his welcome. 

Kneeling down, he laid the spirit along the anomalous grass, cradling his head until it rested. Ghirahim moved blond hair from his face with a single black claw; he dried Link’s clothes with silent magic even as he caressed his forehead. 

“You truly lack any sense of self preservation. I could kill you as you slumber,” he said, drawing a line from his temple to his chin. Link’s nose wrinkled.

Uncounted time ticked by. The demon merely sat along the grass and watched; felt gentle pulses of pulling light, and told himself more than once he would vanish the moment he awoke; remained only to be sure he did.

 _Pointless_ , he thought as he traced a line over bushy eyebrows. He had to raise Demise. Anything less would result in unfavourable circumstances.

No— _surely_ he was waiting for a different reason. A carnal one. Prior to an end to this sword’s life, he would enjoy himself. That was the purpose for his lingering.

_Even if it can only be right now. Especially if..._

“Precisely how long do you plan to keep me waiting?” Ghirahim let the question hang in the air on deaf ears. 

Minutes later, Link began to stir from his sleep. The process was clearly difficult for him. It came with a great deal of indignant groaning. Fingers dug into his eyes and he batted Ghirahim’s hand away, mumbling incoherently, seeking further slumber.

Ghirahim moved to prod at his cheek, expecting to be swatted away again. 

Instead fingers wrapped around his own, the contrast of sun-kissed skin on black filling his vision. Link pulled his hand all the way to his lips, claws only just pressed in for what could not be called a kiss, not truly. Ghirahim’s eyes widened at the sensation. What harm could there be? Once more, only once more. In the face of their untethered, teetering destinies at the hands of gods... Once more would mean nothing. 

“Skychild,” the demon said, his fangs gleaming as he watched that mouth lay claim to his claws, pressing against them with a soft, sleepy chime. “You know it is impolite to _touch_ without asking.” 

“Hm?” His eyes blinked open, but it was Link’s hands Ghirahim afforded his attention. They stilled on his own. Realization dawned on Link but he did not let Ghirahim go. “You’re still here,” he said.

“It would appear so.” 

“I figured you’d leave.”

With his free hand, the demon drew a line from a pointed ear down to a soft neck, following it with his gaze. “That would have been advisable.” His skin was cool, his temperature regulated.

Link sat up suddenly. He held Ghirahim’s clawed hand against his chest in earnest. The demon remained placid, though his fangs were bared, and he waited for that diamond tone to fill his head. Waited for whatever unknown thing this spirit was to surprise him with next.

_Can you lie down?_

“I am not convinced of your sanity.” 

_What?_

“You desire union with a demon. Have you no sense to keep your distance?”

Link laughed, calm and quiet. _I don’t think so, no._ He moved in closer, one hand still holding a black one. _Can you lie down?_

“Why would I do such a thing?”

_I want to... I… I don’t really know what you look like. Not all of you._

“A pity, truly.” Ghirahim smirked, his hand on Link’s chest twitching. “Very well, little bird,” he said beneath his breath, “It would be cruel to deny you the pleasure of my form.”

He earned a huff from the hero, who released his hand to allow Ghirahim movement.

He laid himself along the grass, and was surprised when the spirit lay along _beside_ him. Ghirahim had pictured something more explicit. Yet Link was bashful despite his forwardness. It should not have been a surprise. 

Hands reached out for him, beginning where they had already been, exploring his face until pink lips spread into a wide smile.

“We need not have laid down for _this_ ,” he said. 

Link laughed. _Now who’s impatient?_

Ghirahim sneered through the hands on his face. “You had best watch your tongue or I may _truly_ lose all patience and remove it from your mouth.”

 _Technically I’m not using my tongue._

“I do not think you fully comprehend your situation,” he said as fingers fell to his jawline. Ghirahim attempted a glare at the spirit lying next to him, but barring its uselessness his eyes fluttered closed of their own volition. Hands as firm as metal glided down his throat, exploring every angle, nook, and dip of pliant tendons. Vague impressions of illumine magic radiated from every sure touch; effortlessly held away from his heart, effortlessly pushed away enough to restrain himself. “All of this noxious luminescence could not hope to keep you safe from...”

Link’s fingers drew firm lines across his collar. His palms flattened over both left and right stretches of bone. _It doesn’t need to,_ he said like the ringing of a thousand diamonds. Hands sought next his shoulders, petting down his arms, over each muscle that shifted from lax to stiff as they were touched. Light came with every caress and was denied without question. Ghirahim retained a stony expression even as his eyes remained closed; he forced them to remain closed. 

His hands and claws were claimed by ambitious fingers next, felt shamelessly even along the sharp tips. They could not hope to slice apart his skin, sword that he was, yet Ghirahim was accustomed to them singularly as a means to do harm. He tensed under such a gentle touch.

Link relented. He released Ghirahim’s hands. 

_Do you need me to stop?_

The demon opened his eyes only to glare. Side by side upon artificial grass, he stared at trepidation on a soft face. “You spent all afternoon attempting to seduce me and now you wish to bow out? Cowardice does not suit you, Link.” 

_I wasn’t…_

The shy expression that bloomed over the face next to him forced his fangs into a long, fiendish grin.

“You had best finish what you started, little sword,” Ghirahim said, claws seeking sun-tanned fingers, tracing thin lines down gloved palms. “It would be further effective to rid your hands of these unfortunate gloves. My form is stunning and deserves no less than your full attention.” He slipped one claw under a button that fastened the glove to his wrist and, with a smirk, popped it open. 

Sunkissed cheeks fell further to a pinkish hue and his lips dropped open, only slightly. Link removed his gloves. He set them behind him, somewhere forgotten on the grass. The press of his whole hands was warm as they returned to Ghirahim’s claws. He moved gradually, pulses of light a request.

Ghirahim extinguished his own more nocturnal power. He let the light in, and it sifted through him like a soft, seeking fire. 

As long as he kept it from his core… As long as he kept it carefully withheld from that…

_I like your claws._

The demon did not respond. Much like that quick kiss pressed to his cheek, he had no bearing for any sort of reaction other than placid endurance. 

Yet when strong hands released his own, Ghirahim found himself reaching around to a green-clad back, seeking purchase there. He sunk his claws into fabric and chainmail, poking against furtive flesh, harmlessly even as he pressed in further. “I could tear you apart,” Ghirahim whispered, light bleeding behind his eyes.

A soft sigh was the only response given. Link’s back shifted against his hands, the hero unresponsive perhaps due to possessive claws; undisturbed by meaningless words; oh what had he given himself to? Light tore through his head and the demon held on. 

Hands found his chest, the diamond-shaped hole in the suit, felt its edges and worked up the courage at length to feel his skin. They gingerly dropped lower, lower to his stomach, lower to every sensitive cord of muscle lined with tendons and Ghirahim watched Link’s face fall victim to distracted awe as it had before; he felt further luminosity lilt through him and with failing resolve attempted to push it away.

Link gasped, as if he had not realized how far he’d been let in until he was forced out. 

“You are a dangerous thing,” Ghirahim said, lasting impressions of magic dancing around him. “Such a guilty pleasure.” 

Link’s hands froze near his lower abdomen. He moved up the grass until he was once more at eye-level with the demon. 

“Already you are overheating,” he said once Link was facing him. “Solely from learning the fact of my beauty.” Blue eyes fell closed as Ghirahim moved hair across his forehead. “What shall I do with you this time, little bird?”

 _Can I..._ The ringing crystal tone was shy; he shivered beneath Ghirahim’s touch. _You didn’t… Last time, you left before…_ The demon’s tongue slipped out as he regarded a face twisting with bashfulness, with desire regardless. _So can I… do something?_

Surely Ghirahim could manage to hold himself together through whatever inexperienced action the spirit chose to attempt. It could be forgotten by tomorrow. Ghirahim would forget this by tomorrow. 

He trailed a claw behind a long ear, staring at Link lying beside him on the grass. “If you desire so very _badly_ to service me, who am I to refuse?” Ghirahim set the pad of a single finger on a plump bottom lip. He pressed in and dragged along it, watching fixedly at the indentation, listening to a soft sound of surprise that breathed against his claw. “I would desire these lips of yours somewhere highly effective,” he said lowly, “You would paint quite a picture, wrapped so wholly around me.” 

Pink cheeks dyed a colour closer to red. 

“And then, perhaps, you _would_ find use of that tongue.”

Finally he went entirely red, deeply as any rose, and Ghirahim’s fangs gleamed with delight. He slipped his single finger to Link’s top lip, tracing the arched bow of it. The presence of his light waned and the demon devoured the empty space with his own magic once more, his grin widening viciously as blue eyes hazed over with something other than sightlessness. The spirit welcomed his darkness fully; owning him in such a way, devouring his light, keeping him held under the command of his own power… 

Link shifted to grab at his suit, and nervous hands shook, but they went lower as they had before. Ghirahim could feel their hesitation, but they remained focused on their task as Link inched downward.

His hands devoted themselves to avid exploration. Every nervous twitch was felt as Ghirahim’s lower stomach and thighs were learned. The reserved touch grew to boldness while strong fingers found his hips and rolled around to their edges. Ghirahim affected a forced smirk, embedded across his mouth as a wall, eliciting no further expression even as his caressed muscles fluttered.

Down near his abdomen Link’s reddened ears, struck out from blond and blessedly free of that homely cap, were his sole focus; for a brief moment. Only a moment. Ghirahim regarded next his reticent hands that explored him as a sculpted work of art, studious through every curve and aspect. He had not been regarded by eyes even half as thoroughly, not once, not ever. 

Determination etched through timid reservation. Link’s lips became a flat line of focus and slowly, slow enough to be maddening, he traced a light touch to Ghirahim’s growing arousal. The touch was barely felt and the spirit breathed in sharply; not more than a hiked breath through the nose. Oh how reserved yet forward, how strange this dichotomy, to have witnessed him fell a beast from inside with fierce bravery and now to have him about Ghirahim’s body overcome by shyness, curiosity, to be at the behest of all of his damnable _light_.

“Your pace is abhorrently glacial,” the demon spoke, the tips of fingers exploring his arousal through the white suit, so soft and careful he wished to guide them to their purpose himself. Ghirahim set claws in golden hair and scratched gently at his head, beckoning. 

_How do I get this thing off you?_ A voice like dreaming diamonds asked, and fingers tugged at the form-fitting fabric. _There’s no zipper. What even is this?_

“ _You_ are in no place to poke fun at my attire. That hat of yours causes an unrest in me I have not suffered for millennia.” 

_Where_ is _my hat?_

“Elsewhere,” he replied; he had tossed it away in the pool. Ghirahim displaced blond hair with black claws. The locks were soft. The contrast was vivid. 

Fingers flitted over his growing erection; Ghirahim was surprised by the hastened reaction of his body. He was further surprised by his breath which betrayed him through a clinging hitch. Fingers flexed until they pressed against him fully, their joints quivering with timidity, yet they spread and he was held. 

Link moved his hand languidly as any slowly-encroaching thing down the fullness of him. The action was exploratory as all of his touches had been. Tempering a noise that pressed at his throat, Ghirahim looked down at the open curiosity upon a red face. He watched again the awe-struck state of one who could not see learning through touch. And why should it be anything else? Ghirahim’s form was exquisite. The hero _should_ learn every detail. 

“As for the question of my undress,” he began, the deep-tone of his words unintentional yet they rumbled on, “That is easily rectified.”

The demon removed Link’s hands from his clothed cock. Following this he waved blackened fingers, ghastly fog glittering in the faux-sunlight of this alcove. He was rid of his clothes with the silent spell. They dissolved away and left his lovely, bare form open to the temperate air.

Perhaps the spirit felt the warmth of his skin radiating, or perhaps he had felt the magic; either way he breathed in sharply, a sound that forced Ghirahim’s fangs into another gleaming, slick grin. Warm puffs of air rolled over his exposed abdomen. Link remained down near his hips. 

A single spark of light drifted up his spine. The demon gripped onto green fabric and all but dragged the weighted spirit up the grass, pulling Link back to eye-level.

“Did you enjoy your little expedition of my body?” He hissed. Ghirahim set a claw on Link’s throat and dragged it down to his shirt collar. As the muscles twitched beneath his single claw Ghirahim’s tongue revealed itself, entirely its own master. “As I said before, you are already overheating. And you have scarcely begun.” 

Trepidatious fingers landed on his bare chest, a shallow breath following, as if they had no prior experience of such a sensation; they did not, could not have, for Ghirahim knew his form to be singular in its perfection. He grinned through his fangs. His voice broke from his lips like a poison. “Feeling you fall apart, shaking like a frail leaf…” 

Hands pressed firm into his bare skin, one on each side of his chest. And between them then, directly in the center, a warm mouth kissed. 

Ghirahim felt a single heartbeat pound in a frenzy. He frowned until the moment passed to obscurity.

 _I’m not frail_ , a voice akin to crystal said. Link stroked a hand down his left pectoral and although it continued to shake it showed no less bravery, no less earnest desire. It was as if he wanted something he had never known he wanted, and that fact outweighed his nerves.

That was only natural. Ghirahim _was_ one to be desired. 

_Can you lie on your back?_

The demon traced a path down the face that remained near his throat. “It is hardly befitting for a _tool_ to bark orders,” he said, watching with delight as an annoyed glare ignited across a sweet face. “Oh, don’t fret. I suppose certain exceptions can be made,” he moved a lock of golden hair behind a proudly elongated ear, “Especially for one so pretty.” 

That glare unfolded to a heady smile and hands twitched on Ghirahim’s chest. Ghirahim took a moment to drink in the dismayed expression. And then, fangs shown plainly, he began to roll his back toward the anomalous grass.

Two clawed hands on leanly muscled shoulders made sure the spirit came with him. Link rolled on top of Ghirahim’s larger form seamlessly. A tumultuous noise fell from his mouth. Their legs tangled, height variance causing some awkwardness that went unheeded anyway. Ghirahim felt his naked arousal pressed securely under loosely fitting trousers. The sensation guided his heart to a hastened thud.

Link shifted on top of him, obviously feeling the demanding presence beneath. His face was tortuously twisted with anxious anticipation. It was not an upset look, but unsure for the moment, and so Ghirahim lied very still. 

The spirit over him made no noise; he did not move; and compelled by impatience the demon spoke.

“There is no requirement for reciprocity,” he said. “If you are overcome to the point of inaction… Well. Who could blame you, truly?” 

Link’s face finally shifted to a now-familiar frown. 

_You’re kind of full of yourself_. 

Ghirahim slipped his tongue out for a brief moment before realizing the action had no purpose. Instead he stroked a clawed hand down Link’s back, that awful tunic blunting the sensation. “Is there perhaps someone else who ought to be full of me?” 

A peach hand, wonderfully gloveless, pushed at his jaw, tilting his head back.

 _Shut up._

Ghirahim laughed through Link’s fingers. “You spent all afternoon teasing me, surely you deserve as much in return.”

The hand left his face and Ghirahim felt the heavy body over him relax. Link settled easily on top of him, tucked between his bent knees and arms that once more found his back. He was not drastically small, certainly not light due to his transformity, yet he was diminutive by comparison to Ghirahim’s height and expanse, and slotted against him uncannily well.

A strike of what must be disgust coursed harshly through him. Ghirahim gripped roughly at a green tunic, and then sneered up at a face that could not see him. Further irritated he released a dark current of magic, wanting for it to _hurt_ , wanting to _want_ it to hurt. Yet he knew it would not.

“I am no patient demon,” he said, dismayed at the gravel in his voice. “Make up your mind, Link, or I will be on my way.” 

The spirit on top of him was fluxing with warmth, was shifting carefully over his fully naked form, was attempting to breathe evenly with breaths he did not require. Truthfully Ghirahim could lie here and savour such a reaction for hours; he dragged claws down a strong back that shook and watched anticipatory heat build in dark blue eyes. 

He was gifted a look of steadfast determination. It was the very same look he’d donned before leaping inside Scaldera’s maw, though bereft of any anger.

Link crawled further up his chest towards his mouth, hands seeking his jaw for their target, leaning down close. 

Ghirahim smirked as three fingers met his lips. “None of that,” he said, halting Link’s movement with naught more than words. “You have done nothing to earn such a reward.”

That steadfast determination morphed into a fiery glare and Ghirahim grinned knife-like in return. How easy it was to elicit any reaction… how expressive that honeyed face… how different from everyone he had ever been permitted to know.

Link rolled his eyes with a huff and then, heedless of his shaking hands, heedless of his obviously-weak knees nearer to Ghirahim’s mounting arousal – uncaring of his own nerves – why did this sword neglect himself so? – Link placed a kiss instead upon Ghirahim’s clavicle, the surest press of a mouth that had no business being so soft. 

Fluttering kisses were released upon the demon’s heated skin then, along his collar until they dropped down to his chest, diffident with bashfulness yet repetitive and sincere. Fingers felt out the path that lips trailed. They traced across his left pectoral until they found the hardness there, briefly, his naivete obvious but unimportant as Link breathed in sharply at sensations his lips were unfamiliar with. Ghirahim’s own lips curled into a smile he could not describe as he watched. Link mouthed at his chest, rolling a tongue only once along the nipple, and the demon shifted his whole body up, just to tease him with his pressing cock; blue eyes widened and a noise fell from him as friction met their hips. 

“Such a reaction over something so trivial...” Ghirahim said, playing listlessly with blond hair, staring up at the spirit slotted over him, “How will you manage to endure the rest?”

Link huffed. _Just because I’ve never done this before doesn’t mean I can’t handle it._

“Actually, I’ve come to realize something about you, little bird, in our two short encounters.” Inexplicable even to himself, Ghirahim tucked a lock of dark-honeyed hair behind a long ear once more, attempting a venomous tone. “Your kinesthetic nature permits you to learn best by action. There is nothing you cannot accomplish if you are given the chance to try.” He traced a claw down the bridge of his nose, his other hand caressing the curve of Link’s back. “Inexperience will not hinder you in anything.”

What words were these? From what hidden well did they overflow? 

Link blinked down at him and his mouth attempted to form three separate sentences before all that dropped from it was, “Ghirahim.”

“I hardly intended anything by it. It is merely a fact.” His face shifted to a frown that felt as encasing as a tomb. His blood seemed to rush. “Do not misunderstand–” 

One iron-hard hand grabbed his own, holding it from the back. Link pulled Ghirahim’s palm all the way to his mouth and kissed it firmly. Quietly. He did not shake. A gentle pulse of light intruded upon his kissed hand. It traveled up his arm and flowered as it searched for his core. Ghirahim denied it entrance there. 

Link smiled into his palm before he released it. 

Steadier now, the spirit slinked down his naked form, kissing a trail from the middle of his chest again down to his abdomen, his stomach, and then lower still. Ghirahim felt more pulses of light yet held these at bay; he felt strong fingers gripping and dragging at his skin and could not fight off the way his muscles twitched, could not comprehend their pliance at such wayward tactility. Link was not smooth nor well-paced nor skilled.

Link slipped down between his bare thighs, the motion lacking any elegance. One final kiss was given to his left hip bone. This one was unsteady. 

Faltering hands searched until they found his hardening cock. Link breathed in sharply; his blind eyes widened, staring off at nothing; he bit his bottom lip and traced a hardly-there line down to the base. The demon regarded all of this with a ferocious sort of smile. One that staved off any other feeling.

He thumbed at one side of his cock first, pressure lacking, but still a low noise of surprise escaped Ghirahim’s mouth. 

Link’s resulting grin practically _beamed_ and the demon sneered in return. 

“Don’t become over confident, little bird.” 

_You’re allowed to enjoy it, you know._

“Who could enjoy your blatant inexperience?” 

_I guess we’ll find out._

The base of his cock was gripped and Ghirahim could not hope to remain silent. Nor was he given time to avert his gaze as a pink mouth dropped down. His lips met the tip of his cock and blond eyelashes fluttered shut as he slipped Ghirahim fully inside, taking in as much as he could, directly and all at once. 

The heat was sudden enough to unbalance him and Ghirahim’s teeth clenched through a shuddery pant. His knees became taut and then dissolved to all weakness. Link moved his mouth up, lips pulling. As unrefined as the action was, he moaned around Ghirahim’s half-hard cock and the muted vibrations wracked through him. The overcome tone of that single sound accosted his ears. Link’s face became full-red once more and he seemed to lose himself instantly to the weight inside his mouth. 

He moaned softly around Ghirahim’s cock once more, warm breath feathering over his skin. 

The demon sat up off the grass. It would be too easy to fall apart lying on his back. 

He placed claws on a blond head, tugging at his hair. 

“All of me at once? Surely you are capable of more finesse than _that_.” 

A flat tongue slipped out, lapping against the side of his cock even as pink lips kept him claimed. There was not a lot of movement. Certainly ministrations as these would not allow him release. Yet the tongue slipped up and down, lips moving messily; Link moaned around him again, a hot breath cascading over his skin; and it fogged his mind over regardless. 

Ghirahim placed a thumb on pink lips, touching both their fullness and the cock they were wrapped around. He smirked and watched Link attempting to please him, the uncalculated way he pulled his mouth up, moved his lips, and dragged his tongue. It was disorganized and haphazard at best. It was devotedly earnest. It was _him_ , everything Ghirahim knew of this spirit thus far, placed in his actions. 

“What you lack in experience you more than make up for in ardor,” he said, stroking a thumb down the side of his occupied mouth. Link grunted and moved to take him in further, those lips sliding with frantic friction. Another moan escaped the spirit. Ghirahim’s breath hitched and he glared. “I will _devour_ you,” he said. Link grunted again, half in pleasure and half in annoyance. He shifted his lips, turning his head at an angle, and Ghirahim felt his cock pressed into wetness. A low moan he could not deny bloomed from his throat. Still the demon petted along pink lips that held him. “All of your audacious light, all of this passion, I will claim it _all_ for my own and you shall never dig your way out of the black pit of my resolve…” 

Warm magic pulsed out from the spirit, not demanding but loud anyway. Ghirahim felt his own diminishing and lilting, felt his head dizzying with light; he ought to stave it off, to unfold his own to blot it out, but found he had no resolve left to do so. None at all.

Still, he kept it from his core. 

_Heavy._

The single word was disoriented, the diamond-like tone distorted. 

Ghirahim smirked and thumbed at the lips around him again. “Does it feel good?” he said more than asked, but his voice broke apart into a husk of its usual cadence. He felt another wave of lustrous magic. 

_Lie down._

“Don’t suppose yourself the one in charge here, little sword.” 

Pink lips were removed from his cock and a tongue replaced them. Link drew a line from the base to the rim of its tip, neglecting to touch there. A shiver ran up Ghirahim’s spine.

_Lie down._

“You will _not_ order me about.” 

Link slipped his lips back around him, a hot desperate breath falling with the action. He claimed Ghirahim to his base and flatly his tongue pressed along the heated shaft. Another pulse of light came. It struck him as a flash, singular and piercing. _Please lie down. I want you to feel good. Put your hands back in my hair, I_ –

“That’s _quite_ enough of–” 

_Your hands feel so good, I can’t– I can’t–_

“ _Link_.” 

As if the sound of his name spurred him into action, the spirit dragged his mouth once more up Ghirahim’s cock, and a wave of light came with it. Both sensations were an onslaught the demon only barely managed to deprive himself of.

_You tried to protect me from that monster. You carried me in here. You stayed just to make sure I was alright. You talk a lot but you’re gentle with me. I’ve never been carried, not that I can remember, and all I want is… I’m a sword, so maybe I’m just supposed to be held, but I want…_

The waterfall of words overwhelmed him in their diamond-tone, and Ghirahim relinquished himself fully to this lightful corruption. Magic like an ancient forest swarmed him at his very core. Light bled through him while blackened claws tangled through blond hair. He fell back down upon the strange grass, lying himself out completely. He heard a chime ring and Ghirahim knew in an instant it was a happy noise. A content one. He fought with everything he had not to smile. 

Link shifted up to better claim his cock, sighing through his nose as he moved. It was such a desperate sound. One that reflected the demon’s own longing in this moment.

Ghirahim closed his eyes as lips kissed finally at the tip of him. The press was so gentle he shook. Link’s mouth slipped scarcely down the whole length of his cock, and another wave of light seeped in through to his heart. 

Soft moans sent minuscule vibrations around him that grew until they surged like thunder throughout his body. They snapped from his hips to his spine, from the cavern of his pounding chest to the depths of his soul, which he was certain could not feel as it did now, shattered with euphoria.

One hand stroked Ghirahim’s thigh as the other found purchase around the base of him. Link moaned around his cock again, seeming lost to the act of pleasing him. False grass beneath Ghirahim’s bare back was soft as he shifted, his body unable to remain still in the midst of sensations and light in tandem. He felt golden hair between his fingers; he felt pelting waves of illuminated magic; he felt supple lips and desperate sighs of air against his pelvis. Ghirahim made a noise as a tongue glided flatly around his cock while it was still encased. Link groaned again. A chime followed, singular and bright. The demon could not imagine a better sound. 

He tugged on blond hair for forewarning, more than surprised with how quick he was reaching the pinnacle of his arousal. Link slid his lips slowly up his cock, kissed firmly at its head, and then brought him back in entirely. It was not this that finally had the demon undone, however. It was the waves of confounding light that sought his soul. Ghirahim began to come with a shuddering, growling moan he could scarcely believe came from his own mouth. It was a noise that demanded release, one that tore him apart. 

His back lifted from the grass as his cock searched to bury itself in the warmth that enclosed it. Link’s fingers dragged down one of his thighs as he took all of Ghirahim in, the pressure unimaginable. The demon’s heart thudded in his ears. Light filled his head. He was blind to everything. To their irrefutable destiny, to the noises he himself made, to his prior resolve to remain indifferent. All he heard and felt were Link's relentless groans around his cock and equally neverending light. 

Claws dug into the grass beneath him and threaded through golden hair as he expended himself fully inside Link’s mouth. 

Ghirahim fell back to the ground once finished, his ears ringing. He heard Link swallow. The hand on his thigh slipped away, likely to wipe at wet lips.

What _was_ this? Fear struck him immediately, his orgasm barely completed. Ghirahim sat up from the strange grass in a rush. He had lost himself!—he had fallen to that light!—he had— 

Link rose up from between his thighs to meet him. His cheeks remained red and his breathing was shallow. His own arousal was urgent beneath the fabric of his pants. Mouth agape in breathlessness Link palmed at himself over beige fabric. And through waves of heated, engulfing magic Ghirahim heard his ringing voice. 

_Can I... Can I…_

The demon’s fear dissipated at the sight. It vanished like a candle snuffed out. He permitted that light in again. Sitting with his grey, longer legs encasing the spirit, he reached out. 

Claws touched Link’s wrist, the one of the hand pressed over his clothed cock. It was the only affirmation the demon was able to offer. 

Link pulled himself free of his pants, wholly aroused and biting his bottom lip, eyes falling shut. The sight of his cock, wet with a bead of opaque liquid, was invigorating on its own, yet insufficient. Ghirahim had remained singularly exposed for long enough. 

“Wait,” he said, his voice lowly husking, the single word falling out of him as if into an endless abyss. Link froze. “I would see you. _All_ of you.” 

After a moment, the words seeming slow to reach him, Link nodded. 

Peach fingers slipped around the belts over his tunic and removed the holster. Hands found the underside of a low hemline next, and Ghirahim watched marble-like peach skin come gradually into his view. His mouth grew into a creaking smile of its own will; the tunic fell to the grass, disrupting golden hair further in its removal.

Link stood up, towering over him on legs that shook. Those horrible beige trousers were discarded with haste that resulted undeniably from embarrassment. He returned to the grass far too quickly; the visage before Ghirahim, standing tall and revealed to the strange light of this subterranean grotto—radiant, cloying, very nearly glowing—every muscle taut and his cock stiffly duteous in its reaction… All of it for _him_ , whether he was permitted to take or not. 

It was enough to derange him.

Link placed himself once more between Ghirahim’s equally bare legs.

There was scaring on the smooth skin, which the demon had not expected, yet was not surprising given Link’s task. Was his blade marked as well? Ghirahim wondered idly as he continued to stare, overtaken by rare silence. How pleasant the lean muscles were. How easy it was to recall the fearless way Link had shouted and charged the beast earlier; the protective shield encasing Ghirahim; the contorting coolness of healing… He recalled the emptiness of his hands in that moment. He had never… 

Ghirahim’s eyes widened as he dragged a single claw down a soft throat, across a clavicle, down the center of his chest. Muscles twitched under his fingers. “As I told you before, I have let none treat me as you do,” he said, his voice lost to distraction, his head swimming with light,“Teasing me… Undoing me…” Black claws traced lower, ghosting skin merely to watch it dance under his touch. “The least you could offer me,” he slid careful fingertips down Link's exposed cock, only to retract them before the touch was truly felt, “is a _show_.” 

A surprised, urgent chime rang through Ghirahim’s head. 

Smirking, light blotting through his mind, the demon leaned down until their foreheads pressed together. “If you do well enough…” oh was that _thing_ his voice? that small servile rumble? that single crack in the final word, the crack in everything, everything, “...perhaps you will earn your reward.” 

He moved away, overwrought with delight as Link’s mouth fell open, as his face flushed further, as he sat securely between Ghirahim’s legs, tucked into his frame, near enough to touch, always. 

Without any great deal of finesse, Link grabbed his bared cock at its base. He pulled his hand up gradually, fingers slipping the full way to the tip. A demure moan fell from full lips, rolling over Ghirahim like a warm wave of water. Link’s expression went stiff with flickering shame. White, square teeth bit at his bottom lip. 

Ghirahim traced black fingers down the side of his face, tucking a lock of gold behind his long ear. This did not thwart the shameful expression; Link’s face remained contorted with insecurity, withheld from the various expressions Ghirahim knew it capable of.

“You fall apart so beautifully…” he said beneath his breath, swiping a thumb along the corner of Link’s mouth. “I have never… I have not…” He did not know what he was attempting to say. Pulses of light assailed his vision, his head, his heart, unrelenting and decadent in its corruption; it should not have felt so wonderful. “You need not hide yourself from me, little sword.”

Link stroked down his cock, leaning his head against the fingers on his temple. Another moan fell from his mouth and still he appeared apologetic for it. His unoccupied hand flew up to cover his mouth, shaking and curled at the wrist, his eyes closing. 

Ghirahim plucked the hand from Link’s mouth. “None of that,” he said, caressing the back of his hand with a thumb. “Will you not grace me with my favourite sound?” 

A single chime echoed out. 

The demon smiled, gaping and hollow and fanged, but true. 

Peach fingers reached for his mouth and Ghirahim did not stop them. Link felt his sharp smile, his elongated fangs, and the twisted shame left his face entirely. He smiled, nervous but excited. 

“There,” Ghirahim said. 

Link began moving his hand over his cock once more, now with confidence. The demon watched every angle: his heaving chest, the rolling muscles of his torso, his left arm as he worked himself, his jawline as it slackened with pleasure. Golden hair continued to fall over blue eyes as Link touched himself. The demon moved it across his forehead, behind his ears; how soft it seemed, how drastic the contrast of their skin, how uncanny it felt to be surrounded and filled with such distorting light as he did naught but watch… 

Down lower Ghirahim stared at fingers he knew to be wholly capable as they tugged around a cock. Link moved it towards himself, pulling his hand up and down at an unhurried pace, though his breaths quickened with each slow stroke. He was not as fully grown as Ghirahim had brought him to before, which the demon took great pleasure in. He doubted, too, that Link could make himself expend twice. 

The spirit’s head fell forwards with a shaking moan. Ghirahim took his chin and tilted his face back up, eyes falling immediately to his pink lips, forced to part through fitful panting, more hair falling into his eyes. Ghirahim attempted to speak and yet nothing escaped his mouth. 

He released Link’s chin and set his dark hands instead on his chest. He intended to rest them there yet they dragged down his whole front, felt his hardening nipples, his convulsing torso, his shifting body, and they did not stop until Ghirahim was holding bare hips. Link’s following moan was ragged and rasped. The memory of words echoed inside the demon’s head. 

_...maybe I’m just supposed to be held, but I want…_

Ghirahim caressed along one naked hip, taking as much of him as he could reach. Link groaned again and his hand stuttered on his cock. Warmth bloomed down Ghirahim’s chest and he released a single pulse of dark magic, his words lost to him still. Link accepted it as openly as ever, but his light remained the prominent force, and Ghirahim drowned in it once more. 

Timid gasps unfolded themselves to fullness. Link moaned louder, and slipped his hand to the tip of his cock, fingering at the base until pleasure drove him to press against the tip. Ghirahim moved his hands closer to his rear, gripped tightly and watched; Link tugged back down his cock as he moaned louder still, his breaths erratic, hair displacing and tucked behind his ear by black claws that fell now to unsteadiness. A soft, frantic keen filled the air, followed by a crystalline chime. 

_Ghirahim, I’m– I’m–_

The demon could only tuck golden hair behind his ear once more, could only watch and listen and feel the spirit before him come undone. He was too beautiful a sight for words. 

Link came with a raucous moan that held Ghirahim’s name, his torso shaking, his throat bobbing, all of his luminous energy fluxing and calling. The demon felt frenzied. He watched and caressed his hips. Fogged light filled his head and he let it in without question. The spirit’s face twisted with pleasure as a stream of white expended from his cock, and Ghirahim savoured the image before him, would retain it in his memory for however long his life continued. 

Slowly, quiveringly, Link came down. His laboured pants became breathing and soon returned to his nose, deep and careful as he relaxed. 

Light still bled behind Ghirahim’s eyes but as the haze of pleasure dissipated, fear crept in. 

The demon blinked, staring. Abruptly, a vicious frown devoured his mouth and anger that had once faded began to grow as if pestilent. Was it anger? Was it even that? He felt his frown like a fortress once more. 

“What manner of trickery _is_ this?” 

Link went stiff, his cheeks still marred by redness, his eyes glassy. “What?” he breathed.

“Have you no shame? _Beguiling_ your enemy with such deceitful magic.” 

“What… What are you talking about?” he asked, still lost to a climax barely completed. A pout tugged down at his wet lips. “Did I screw this up?”

Ghirahim narrowed his gaze. He felt as if he were teetering on a cliff under a scorning moon. He felt lost between what he knew to be natural, and what he did not know at all.

Link, in turn, only looked miserable. “I don't know what I’m doing,” he said, “but I wanted to try something… You left so fast last time.” _What did I do wrong?_

The demon remained silent. 

_Sorry,_ Link’s voice continued in his head, _Maybe I got carried away. I never think before I act. Zelda’s always telling me._ He ran a hand through disheveled golden hair, the action bonelessly tired. _I don’t..._ Link hid his face into both palms, then. Jittery, nervous. Fingers bent at every joint. Dug into skin. _Your hands make me… they’re… they feel amazing, I can’t think when you touch me._

Ghirahim became rigidity personified. Light danced in his eyes but it had never hindered coherent thought. He was humbled by his own type of blindness, then. 

The demon was not unaware of his hubris and how it could, at times, distort the truth. In that moment he was glad Link could not bear witness to the vexed indignation on his face.

Of course Hylia would not send her sword out to _seduce_ him. What a foolish idea. It had been from the start.

Yet the alternative was much more concerning.

“Regardless,” he said, beginning to untangle himself from the spirit, “I must depart.” Ghirahim’s voice neglected to cooperate, even now. It sounded ragged. It sounded weak. He forced it to its grandiose tenor and pushed all that clawing light from his form. He ignored his own knees as they betrayed him by quivering. “As invigorating as this distraction was, the fact remains that we have our tasks to complete, and…”

A harsh hand gripped his arm, and it might’ve hurt if Ghirahim were not demonic in nature. 

_You’re not leaving. Not again._

“Once more you presume to tell me what to do. We have already wasted far too much time—”

“ _Ghirahim_.”

His name was spoken with urgent desperation, it was spoken from a bonelessly tired body, one he had been the cause of. It was a command and a plea all at once. 

_Stay._

Oh… what _harm_ could there be in fulfilling such a small request? He was a timeless abomination, an all powerful demon lord, he would not truly be taken in. There was no harm. There was nothing. _This_ was nothing. 

Ghirahim smirked and settled once more on the grass. The spirit’s grip slackened until it was no longer the iron-grip of someone attempting to anchor him in place.

He stroked claws down a hip that shivered with over-stimulation. “You wish to be held?” Ghirahim said, already shifting to alter their positions. “How sentimental, Skychild… You realize my arms are not ones of comfort.”

It was Link who reached out and took him. 

Two hands clamped over Ghirahim’s upper arms, needing first to search for purchase, and then the spirit tugged them both to the cool, unusual grass. Link laid them down without effort. He was as strong as the steel that somewhere, somehow, made up his blade.

Smirking throughout, once more lying on grass, once more at the mercy of light he was not meant to hold, Ghirahim pulled him in.

“This sort of union is inadvisable,” the demon said, perhaps only as a reminder to himself.

Link fell against his chest with a sigh. He tucked his golden head under the demon’s chin. His hair was soft and carried a scent like fire and wild forestry. Ghirahim breathed it in. 

Link shivered in his arms, the small vibrations somehow metallic. 

“Cold?”

The single word echoed between them, whispered as it was. 

Link nodded against his chest.

With a wave of a hand Ghirahim’s cloak appeared. He set it over bare, sun-tanned shoulders, and then Ghirahim wrapped his arms further around the smaller frame. His metallic skin was chill to the touch. Anger hiked through him ignited by this neglectful _Zelda_ who would send her blade out to endure environments he was ill-equipped for. Panic soon followed because what did he care for if he truly intended to raise the Demon King and sentence this beautiful sword to death? Why harbour _hatred_ for this Zelda if he was to slay the very spirit she neglected? 

Why lie here, unraveled and vulnerable, and attempt to warm this strange, metallic flesh? 

He knew, then. In that instant Ghirahim knew he would not survive to see the end of this. Maybe he had already known. 

Cool fingers played at his earring. A smaller chest pressed along his own, and a voice like gems rang through his head. 

_You really like diamonds, huh._

He could not form a reply, only for a moment. 

_Ghirahim?_

“Rest, little bird,” he said, stroking claws down a back finally bare to the touch. “You’ve gotten your wish, have you not? Here I remain.” 

_You said you’d kiss me._

Ghirahim’s laugh rumbled. He traced the tips of black claws over a bowed upper lip, looking down at the spirit tucked into his body. 

“Something to look forward to, perhaps.” 

* * *

  
Link woke up alone. He wasn’t exactly surprised, but his heart sank anyway.

As he sat up, he felt fabric fall down his naked body.

Ghirahim had left his cloak.

Link fingered at it, silent. He felt warm, lingering darkness. He felt warmth that wasn't from magic at all. And when he reached out to search for his clothes he found them sitting neatly beside him. Even his hat was there. 

Sitting alone in the cool grass, Link gripped at the cloak and couldn’t stop the grin that devoured his face. 


End file.
